


Harry Potter and the Shadowed Patronus

by deadptarmigan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-07-04 19:12:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 89,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15847590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadptarmigan/pseuds/deadptarmigan
Summary: The battle was fought, the war is won. All is well. Why, then, does Harry Potter have the eerie feeling it’s not truly over? Hogwarts stands half-broken, its ghosts missing. The Auror program is not what Harry expected. Dementors are fighting for their territory, and Harry thinks someone might be trying to kill him. Is it all in his head, or does the Boy Who Lived have more to do?My version of the eighth book in the series.





	1. Chapter 1

THE MISSING GHOSTS

Harry Potter fidgeted restlessly. He had been helping out at the Burrow, doing small tasks as a thank you to the Weasleys for allowing him to stay so long, but all the gnomes were out of the garden, the back stoop was swept clean of debris, and the ghoul in the attic had endured a bath by Harry's wand. Now he had come to a stop in the sitting room, and tortured himself by listing all the reasons why the Auror Department might deny his application. He made the mistake of looking at himself in the mirror. Harry had not yet gained back the weight he had lost the previous year, and his cheekbones stood out starkly under his green eyes. He looked pale, sickly even, and worried that he was in too poor physical shape to be an asset to the Aurors.

Desperately, he looked about for a distraction.

The room held just the right amount of clutter to make it feel like a home. A stack of books sat on a bench next to the chair Arthur Weasley most often sat in. Harry righted his glasses and peered at the titles: A History of MACUSA Involvement on the British Isles; 50 Greatest Muggle Inventions; and Is Electricity Magical? were at the top of the stack, and none of those titles particularly appealed to Harry.

He jumped up and looked on top of the piano, hoping Ginny had forgotten some of her Quidditch magazines. No such luck, but Harry had already decided that instead of distracting himself with Ginny's magazines, he would instead seek out the real thing. She might still be asleep — Ginny liked having a lie-in — but there were few things Harry found more enjoyable than waking her up. He took the stairs two at a time—

—and nearly collided with Mrs. Weasley.

Harry managed to stop himself in time, twisting out of her way, and taking a step back. He eyed her carefully. Mrs. Weasley had always been the motherly sort, had taken him in, and treated him like he was one of her children. But ever since the battle, when Voldemort had fallen, the light in her eyes had dimmed. She had lost weight, and her clothes hung on her frame. Standing there on the stairs, holding a laundry basket full of robes, she looked as though the weight of the world were pressing on her shoulders.

"I was going to go wake Ginny, but d'you want some help?" Harry asked cautiously. Her moods had become slightly unpredictable. Harry found this understandable. She had lost a child, after all.

"No, thank you," she said crossly. "Harry — were you planning to stay here ALL day?"

Harry, who had not had plans to do much other than hope an owl, bearing his acceptance to the Auror program, would arrive, was at a momentary loss. "Er—"

"You need to get out more," she said.

Harry supposed that was true. He'd been sticking around the Burrow quite a lot. They'd all come back from Hogwarts the day after Voldemort's defeat, and Harry had never really left. Ron and Hermione had; they were in Australia, untangling the Memory charms Hermione had used to keep her parents safe during their year on the run. But Harry... mostly stayed at the Burrow. His shoulders slumped. He really did need to get out more if Mrs. Weasley was commenting on it.

"I... could go to Hogwarts today, help out with the rebuilding," said Harry.

Mrs. Weasley nodded tiredly, and without another word, walked down the rest of the stairs. Harry stood there, watching her go; she hummed a little tune, an off-key melody of a song that did not sound very happy.

Shaking his head, Harry continued up to Ginny's room. It was his favorite room at the Burrow: it was bright, cheerful, and smelled so wonderfully of Ginny. He could not help but smile whenever he came in, and not just because he was with her.

She was burrowed under the covers, completely hidden except for one shapely leg hanging over the edge. Small snores emitted from her mouth. Harry grinned, and reached out to tickle her foot. "Wake up," he said teasingly. She jerked her foot out of his grasp.

"Wuzza," she said blearily.

"Good morning," Harry smiled at her. She smiled back. He leaned forward to kiss her, but she put her finger on his lips, and jumped up.

"Morning breath," she said as she headed for the bathroom.

Harry followed her.

They had not spent much time apart, he and Ginny. The morning of Voldemort's defeat, Harry had fallen into a four poster bed in his old dorm room. At some point, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny had joined him. Harry'd woken up to her weight on his chest, and her long hair tickling his nose. They'd talked for hours; Harry told her everything that night: the Horcrux hunt, the long hours spent watching her dot on the Marauder's Map, how much he'd missed her, how being apart had become physically painful. As he had predicted, they'd had days in which to talk... it was edging into months, and Harry could see himself still wanting to talk to Ginny years down the road.

"I thought I'd go over to Hogwarts," Harry said through the closed door. There were faint splashing sounds as Ginny brushed her teeth and washed her face. "Maybe try to figure out how I can help. Want to come?" Unspoken was his desire to rediscover those secluded areas of Hogwarts.

"I need Ginny here today!" Mrs. Weasley said loudly, and with great irritation.

Harry winced.

"Looks like I'm staying here today," said Ginny. Harry could hear the grimace in her tone. "Give me a minute, Harry, I need to have a pee, and I can't with you listening at the door..."

Harry wandered away from the bathroom door and toward Ron's room, it having suddenly occurred to him that if he were going to Hogwarts today, he could finally return the Elder Wand to Dumbledore's tomb. This was something he had meant to do since just after Voldemort had been defeated by his own rebounding curse. The Elder Wand was a responsibility he did not want, but the time had never seemed right to return it. But today was the day.

The Elder Wand was very heavy in the pocket of his robes as Harry made his way out the Burrow door and toward the little landing that everyone used as an Apparition point. It had been hidden in Harry's trunk these last couple of months, and he'd had it pushed to the back of his mind, as well. Now that it was in his pocket, he remembered its legendary status. His stomach twinged faintly. Harry was not AFRAID of the Elder Wand — after going to meet his own death in the forest, he did not think much would ever scare him again — but the Deathstick was not an easy object to hold.

It could be worse, Harry thought. It could be a Horcrux.

"Harry!" It was Ginny, leaning out her window, waving at him. "Get a move on! The sooner you leave, the sooner you can come back!"

Harry waved at her; she blew him a kiss, and withdrew back into her room. There was movement from the window above hers; George was sitting there, staring at him. Harry waved, but George did not move. It was as though he didn't see him.

Shaking his head, feeling a pang of sympathy for George, Harry turned on the spot, and Disapparated.

He'd chosen to Apparate just outside of Hogsmeade, deliberately choosing to avoid the small wizarding village. Turning back to look at it, it looked just as busy as ever. There was a queue outside Madame Puddifoots, and smoke issued out of the Hog's Head chimney. So many happy days had been spent here during his school days, which seemed so long ago to Harry now, as though the last year of being on the run had stretched to five or ten years.

Harry turned and marched toward Hogwarts.

Some of the damage had not yet been cleared from the path: boulders were strewn about, and Harry thought he spotted a large, cracked club that had to have been dropped by one of the giants. He pulled out his wand – his holly-and-phoenix wand – and waved the boulders to the side of the path, and crumbled the clubs into powder. If he was going to help clean up the mess Voldemort and the Death Eaters had made, he might as well start now. Continuing up the path, he cleared up several more pockets of debris, and was just deciding how to rid the path of a pile of logs, when he came upon the broken gates of Hogwarts.

Harry stared at it, surprised it had not yet been fixed… perhaps the damage inside had been so extensive that the professors and whoever else was helping restore the school had not yet been able to make it outside. More determined than ever to help, Harry climbed over the gate, and strode up the path, passing Hagrid's mostly intact hut along the way. With a pang, he realized he had not seen or spoken to Hagrid since the morning of Voldemort's defeat…

As though his thoughts had conjured him, Hagrid and Fang emerged from the forest with a deafening cry of greeting from Hagrid, and frantic face-licking from Fang.

"Hagrid!" Harry cried.

"Harry! Yer here!" Hagrid swept him into a bone-cracking hug. Harry winced, and was uncomfortably reminded of the last time Hagrid had held him. It flashed across his mind: Hagrid, carrying him out of the forest, and laying him at Voldemort's feet. Harry'd had to try so hard to remain perfectly limp.

He tried not to dwell on that night, but it intruded on his thoughts and crept into his dreams. Whenever it happened, he would remind himself that others had lost so much more. The Weasleys, who were still shells of themselves. Andromeda and Teddy, who had lost everyone but each other. This ritual performed, Harry turned his focus back on Hagrid.

"What've you been up to?" he asked.

"Bin tryna settle the creatures down, bin a full time job," said Hagrid, waving his hand at the forest. "The centaurs made a move on acromantula territory; they weren' too pleased abou' that."

Harry stared at him in horror. He tried to picture Hagrid putting himself in the middle of a fight between acromantula and centaur, and could not believe his friend had survived.

"—bin glad ol' Newt Scamander came out of retiremen', ter be honest," Hagrid was saying. Harry vaguely recognized the name of the author of one of his textbooks.

"He's been helping out?" Harry asked, still trying to get the image of Hagrid being pulled apart by a giant spider and a centaur out of his head.

"Yer, up at the castle," Hagrid said. He put a big hand on Harry's shoulder, and pointed, as though Harry had needed directions to the place that still felt most like home. "Have a bit of a mystery," he added. "Not soon after ye bea' You-Know-Who, we couldn' find the ghosts — any of 'em. Still can'."

"You can't find any of the ghosts?" Harry said with great surprise. Some of the Hogwarts ghosts had been at the school since near the founding: case in point, the Grey Lady, who had supplied Harry with a timely piece of information at a critical moment. The idea of them not being at the school anymore was... unsettling. Like the Burrow without the Weasleys. "What about Peeves?"

"Oh, Peeves didn' go anywhere, bu' he ain't himself," Hagrid said darkly. "S'why we called Scamander."

Harry tried to imagine how the poltergeist could be anything but himself — could poltergeists catch sick? — and failed. He knew that if he'd still been in school, these mysteries would keep him up at night, along with Ron and Hermione. But perhaps that torch had passed. A new batch of students would soon be arriving... they would be probing the mysteries of Hogwarts; they would be the ones to find out where the ghosts went, and why Peeves was not himself. Harry liked that. Last year, it had seemed like the world would never be normal again, but he'd been wrong, and they were all starting to move on.

Everyone was moving on.

"Well," said Harry, shielding his eyes against the sun, "I ought to go on up and see if I can help... is that Professor McGonagall I see?"

Hagrid chose to follow Harry up the steep path. His footsteps made the ground vibrate. As they drew closer and closer, Harry's felt guiltier and guiltier. Professor McGonagall was not looking her usual impeccable self. Some of her hair had fallen out of its bun, she had a burn mark on her cheek, and when she swung around to see him striding toward her, the look on her face reminded him immensely of Mrs. Weasley. He should've come to help out sooner, Harry thought with an inward wince.

"Professor McGonagall!" said Harry.

"Potter," McGonagall said tiredly.

"Isn' it so good ter see Harry?" Hagrid enthused.

McGonagall waved her hand. To Harry's relief, she managed a small smile. He'd not seen her so out of sorts, not even when she'd returned from St. Mungo's after being hit with four Stunners at the end of his fifth year.

"I came to see what I could do to help?" Harry said.

"Oh, Potter," said McGonagall, a little sadly, "haven't you done enough?"

Harry was slightly taken aback, and it was several heartbeats before he could think of what to say. "Are you sure?" he asked. He craned his neck; it did not appear as though many people were helping put Hogwarts back together. Even if McGonagall felt he had done enough, Harry thought he could do more.

"I'm sure. If you'll excuse me, the gargoyles are not going to mend themselves." She swept away.

"She bin workin' day and nigh'," said Hagrid. They turned and headed back down to his hut. "She an' the other professors bin runnin' themselves ragged, jus' ter get the castle back afore September."

"She seems over-worked," said Harry, with a large amount of sympathy.

The following couple hours were not at all what Harry had expected them to be. Instead of using his magic and his wand to help, Harry sat and ate rock cakes with Hagrid, and told him everything that had happened since he'd left Hogwarts and gone to the Burrow at the invitation of the Weasleys. "I... haven't really left since," said Harry, made slightly uncomfortable at the thought.

"Well, it's grea' ter see yer here now," said Hagrid, his black eyes twinkling.

It was well into afternoon that Harry, feeling positively buoyant by now, made his farewells. "Take care, Hagrid," he said. "I'll be by again soon."

Harry did not leave Hogwarts immediately. Instead, he made his way over on the far side, where he found a large white tomb engraved with his old mentor's name.  _Mentor_ hardly encompassed what Dumbledore had turned out to be for Harry, Harry knew. It was a pale word. Dumbledore had guided him, trusted him, had left his imprint on the events that led Harry into the forest a few months ago… Dumbledore had saved him.

Harry missed him. He wished Dumbledore could have seen how it all played out. Harry'd been following in Dumbledore's footsteps, after all. Dumbledore did not get to see the triumph. If he'd been here, there'd be no need to spend months fixing the school… Dumbledore would've fixed it in a moment, and making it look easy… fun, even. The ghosts wouldn't be missing, and whatever was going on with Peeves… Dumbledore would fix it.

He drew the Elder Wand out of his robes.

And yet… it did not feel quite right. It did not feel right to open this tomb again, to disturb what rested there. Harry stared very hard at the name engraved on that tomb. What would Dumbledore  _really_ want? It was the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny, and whatever else Hermione had called it. But hadn't Dumbledore proven that it could be a powerful tool of protection as well? Harry wanted to be an Auror. What if, God forbid, a new threat arose, and Harry needed a more powerful wand? He could keep both.

It was dusk before Harry finally put the Elder Wand back in his pocket, dusted off his robes, and began the long walk back to Hogsmeade and the Apparition point. His mind was clear, though, and he enjoyed the walk. No regrets, thought Harry, as he made his way back over the broken gate. I'll keep it for now…

It was a good day, he mused. It had been good of Mrs. Weasley to prompt him to get out of the house.

Just before dinner, Harry, who was helping set the table, happened to glance out the window, and spied a tawny, handsome owl winging its way toward the Burrow. His heart leapt up into his throat. It was from the Ministry, it had to be. Indeed, when Mrs. Weasley reached around him to open the window, it eyed Harry and held out its leg. A small scroll was soon in Harry's shaking hands. He nearly fumbled it.

 _Dear Mr. Potter_ , it read.

_Congratulations on being accepted into the Auror program at the Ministry of Magic._

_Due to your age and lack of the N.E.W.T. scores we usually require, you will enter the program with a probationary status. Your employment in the Ministry is subject to continuous review by your instructors, the Head of the Auror Department, and the Minister for Magic._

_Training begins September 10. Please report to the Ministry of Magic in London no later than 10 o'clock._

_Attached is a list of the items you will need in the coming months as you prepare to protect the Wizarding community of Great Britain from threats of a dark nature. You will be reimbursed upon completion of the program._

_Sincerely,_

_Mr. Ben Hanscom, Auror_

Harry read the letter twice, elated. This was it. Despite never finishing Hogwarts, despite not having the N.E.W.T.s, Harry was at last seeing his dream of becoming an Auror realized. He glanced over the second page: the required items for the Auror training program were more extensive even than what had been required his later years at Hogwarts. There were fourteen books to buy, from A Compendium of Curses to A History of the Dark Arts on the European Continent to How to Recognize Dark Rituals, A Primer. Hermione would be in her element. There were potions ingredients Harry had never even heard of — including the toenails of a blast-ended skrewt. He was excited in a way that reminded him of how he'd felt in previous years, when he received his letter from Hogwarts...

The prophecy was over and done with. Harry had triumphed, due to help from his friends. Despite that, Harry still felt a duty, a responsibility, to continue on as he had done for the last seven years... Voldemort may be gone, but there would other threats. He thought of the Weasleys and winced. There would be other families torn apart. Harry wanted to be part of eradicating that. And becoming an Auror was without a doubt the best way of doing that.


	2. Grimmauld Again

CHAPTER TWO

GRIMMAULD AGAIN

It was four days after his trip to Hogwarts that Harry laid his fork down beside his plate of breakfast food and announced, "I think I'll move back to Grimmauld Place soon." Everyone was at the table with him: Mr. Weasley was buried behind the  _Daily Prophet_ , Mrs. Weasley picked at her food and drank tea, and George pretended to eat. Only Ginny ate with any sort of gusto.

He very carefully kept his eyes off Ginny. This had been the topic of discussion over the last few days, and it still tore him up. But Harry felt — really felt — that his presence was detrimental to the Weasleys's grieving process.

"I think that went well," Harry said later, as he and Ginny did the dishes. They did them by hand. Ginny still had the Trace on her, and both she and Harry had taken to following the rules as closely as possible in order to not put added pressure on her parents.

"Mm," said Ginny. Harry looked down at her. She still wore her pajamas and dressing gown, and had a bit of flour on her cheek. He was going to miss seeing her like this, miss seeing her at all moments of the day. It was why he had ignored his own instincts for days. The older Weasleys needed privacy.

Ginny interrupted his thoughts by grabbing the front of his shirt with soapy hands and pulling him closer for a kiss. "You're a good man, Harry," she said when they pulled apart.

The annoyance the Weasleys felt at having someone not related to them live in their house for months while they were trying to grieve the loss of their own bothered Ginny much more than it did Harry. Harry, however, felt like he'd be a brass hypocrite if he judged anyone their grief. He'd been a right prat after Cedric, and he'd destroyed Dumbledore's office after Sirius. "I'll miss you," Harry said honestly, "but I think I've got to move out."

"You're moving out," George said flatly. He leaned against the door jam. It was the first time Harry'd seen him fully in weeks, and he very carefully kept the wince off his face. George had lost weight, was wearing one of Fred's old Christmas sweaters, and had clearly not had a wash in quite some time.

"Er, yeah," Harry said belatedly.

George nodded without making eye contact, grabbed a bacon sandwich from the ice box, and walked out.

"You could thank Harry for making the bacon sandwiches!" Ginny called to his retreating back.

George made a rude gesture in reply, and disappeared up the stairs.

Later, Harry and Ginny were taking advantage of the privacy of the Weasleys's small orchard. He had one hand in her hair, and the other lay lightly on the smooth, warm skin just above her stomach. When he tickled her ribcage, goosebumps erupted on her skin. Harry was debating whether he had the courage to move his hand a little higher... he'd touched her there a few days ago during a heated snog behind Mr. Weasley's shed, but this was far more blatant...

"OI!" yelled a familiar voice.

Harry jerked his hand away from Ginny as though burned. She sat up with a jolt and tugged her shirt down. They exchanged a quick, heated look that told Harry she would not have minded at all if his hand had wandered to her curves. He itched to test his theory, but sighed and pushed it from his thoughts when he heard Ron call again.

"We're over here!" yelled Ginny. She stood up and brushed herself off.

"Ginny!" cried Hermione.

The four of them met in the middle, and it was as though the sun came out from behind a cloud. It was with great relief that Harry hugged Hermione, and slapped Ron's back. They'd been gone nearly a month... they were supposed to be home two weeks ago. Harry took a step back and eyed them. They looked healthy, though they were dressed in heavy winter robes. Harry supposed that was only to be expected, since it was winter in Australia, he remembered.

"Where are your parents?" Ginny asked.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a tired glance. "Well," said Hermione, "we couldn't actually—"

"Ron!" shouted George, sounding rather more alive than usual. He strode out the house, his mother on his heels, and leaned over the garden wall. Harry watched the two come, feeling a pang in his stomach at how much happier they looked. He exchanged a small, open smile with Ginny, and stepped out of the way.

George gave him a look Harry took to mean he'd rather have some privacy while greeting his brother, and Harry nodded. "I'll be upstairs," he whispered to Ginny.

Harry ended up spending the next hour or so packing and thoroughly cleaning Ron's room. His trunk and rucksack were placed by the door, and Harry freshened the sheets, tucked his camp bed under Ron's, gave the family of frogs Ron kept in a tank their daily meal, and even conjured a bouquet of sweet-smelling flowers.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" Ron asked, aghast.

"Too much?" Harry asked. He Vanished the bouquet.

"No, why are you leaving? We just got back!"

Hermione and Ginny followed Ron into the room, Hermione making similar noises of displeasure. "I just think it's better if I go to Grimmauld Place," Harry must have told them thirty-six times. Neither one would let it go, until Harry told them firmly he was not going to discuss it any longer.

"But tomorrow's your birthday!" said Ron.

"I'll stay one more night," said Harry. "That'll be good. But now I want to hear about your Australian adventures."

Ron blew out a breath. "It did not go as planned, that's for sure." Ginny settled down next to Harry, as they listened to the story.

Hermione and Ron had left a few weeks ago, taking an International Portkey that Kingsley Shacklebolt and the Australian Ministry had set up. Arrival there was uneventful, but, as Ron said, "Of course they had questions. The world's mad for an inside view of what happened." So they were delayed almost three days by the "well-meaning but very inquisitive" Ministry. Then, when they went out to the small town in the outback that Hermione had directed them to, they found her parents had moved.

"Oh God!" said Ginny. "What'd you do?"

"Made some inquiries," said Hermione. "I'd placed them near the Australian wizarding school... thinking that would be the best option, but turned out they both hated it."

Ron muttered something under his breath. Hermione nudged him.

"We finally found them on the other side of the continent, and, well..."

Hermione's voice broke off.

"What is it?" Harry pressed. "They're... all right, aren't they?"

"It turns out the Steve and Monica Wilkins decided they no longer wanted to be married. They weren't — aren't living together — Dad's got a new girlfriend, and Mum's..."

"Got a friend, too," supplied Ron.

Harry's mouth had fallen open. He was unable to believe that Hermione's parents had undergone so many changes in just one year. Hermione's hands were over her eyes, and Ron threw his arm over her shoulders and kissed the top of her head.

"I think when I did the memory charm, I did it wrong," Hermione said. "I must've did something wrong. They were married just after they had me, they were married so long, and I think by changing who they thought they were, I must've messed with how they loved each other."

"That's awful, Hermione," said Harry, heartfelt. "What did you do?"

"I took it off them—"

"We were hoping it would fix everything," Ron put in.

"Except it didn't," said Hermione. "They were so confused! It was awful."

"They were right hacked off at her," said Ron. "I had to step in."

Hermione gave him a grateful look. "He did, and he was brilliant. He told them all about how awful last year was, how so many people were dying... how hard it would have been to protect them if they'd stayed."

"We finally got them convinced not to keep Hermione in the wringer, but they aren't convinced they want to leave their new lives," said Ron.

Harry was stunned. It was only a year ago that Hermione had performed the memory charm. It seemed unbelievable that her parents would change so much in so little time. He could not help but feel responsible; if—

"Don't even think about it, mate," Ron jabbed a finger at him. "'Sides, we'll get this sorted. It just needs a bit of time."

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed.

Ginny laughed.

"So did you get your acceptance to the Auror program?" Ginny asked her brother.

Ron patted his robes proudly. "I did. Came at just the right time, too, blimey, we needed a pick-me-up."

It was Harry and Ginny's turn to catch them up on the events of the last few weeks. And there was precious little to tell. "I went up to Hogwarts, to see if I could help. They didn't need me, but something odd — all the ghosts are missing, and something's wrong with Peeves. I don't know what, they didn't say."

Their attention was caught on this for several minutes; Hermione fired off question after question. Harry was forced to tell her that he had not gleaned all the information that he could, and had, in fact, inwardly decided that it would be up to someone else to solve the mysteries at Hogwarts. "Like Ginny," he said, "Ginny can figure out where the ghosts went, and then she'll tell us."

"And me," said Hermione with a small smile.

Harry's mouth fell open. "You're going back?"

It was quite some time before the four had caught each other up with everything. Harry could hardly believe Hermione was going back to Hogwarts. "I want my NEWTs, Harry," she said. Harry thought inwardly that she just didn't want the stigma of being on a probation period for any amount of time, but he did not say this out loud. Their conversation lasted the entire afternoon, and through dinner — the other Weasleys hardly spoke at all. It was only as the others were heading off to bed that their conversation wound down.

The floorboards creaked under Harry's feet as he made his way back up to the room he shared with Ron. By unspoken agreement, the four had split up into pairs after the older Weasleys had gone up to bed. It had still been rather early, and Harry'd been glad for a little private time and night flying with Ginny. But now it was very late, and Harry needed to be very quiet. He tiptoed up a short flight, past the twins's room, and—

—jerked to a halt.

"No," whimpered George. "No, no, no!"

Harry's heart constricted.

"NOT HIM!" George shouted.

A wave of sympathy swamped Harry. He could not even imagine the loss George was going through. Fred had not only been his brother, he'd been his twin... they'd been Fred-and-George... more of a set, than two individuals. There was a part of Harry that wanted to go in there, but he knew George would be mortified if he knew Harry had heard him crying out in his sleep.

He stood outside George's door for another moment.

"Oh God!" George shouted. "WHAT WAS THAT?!"

A door downstairs opened, and Harry knew it was Mrs. Weasley, knew that she would come comfort her son. He retreated silently up the stairs.

"Oi, what was that?" Ron mumbled sleepily.

"George had a nightmare," said Harry.

"Ah," said Ron.

Neither one of them fell asleep right away. Harry tossed and turned and finally slid into a dream about the forest, except this time he was all alone, running through the brambles, trying to escape. His heart thumped madly.

"Oi, between you and George, does anyone get any sleep around here?" said Ron. Morning light filtered through the curtains. Harry felt like he'd not had much rest at all. He groped for his wand — his phoenix-and-holly wand, the other had been packed away in his trunk — and was relieved to find it right where he left it. In his dream, he'd not had his wand...

"Happy birthday, mate," said Ron.

"Oh! Right!" Harry sat up with a jolt. "Thanks!"

It was one of Harry's better birthdays, as any birthday that did not happen at the Dursleys would have to be. He and Ginny, and Hermione and Ron had breakfast together, then went to play two-a-side Quidditch. Harry smiled a lot, remembering how much time they'd all spent together the summer before his sixth year, and how nice it was to return to that... except with more kissing, and less bickering.

After lunch, the four of them went over to see Andromeda Tonks and baby Teddy. "I think he might be starting to recognize me," Harry told Ginny, beaming. Teddy was still a tiny little lump, but he was picking his head up and looking at everything with bright, inquisitive eyes. "Maybe he'll roll over for you," Andromeda said, several times during the visit. Teddy never did, but was content to be passed around like a Quaffle.

Even Ron seemed to enjoy it.

The other three left before he did, wearing secret smiles, and exchanging looks. Harry was glad for the extra time with his godson. "Thanks for letting me come over," he said, looking over at Andromeda.

"You are quite welcome," she said. Then her face fell. "They said — they said you would make an excellent godfather," she said sadly.

"I'll do my best," Harry said quietly. He and Ginny had spent quite a bit of time talking about this. It seemed like years ago that Remus had swept into Shell Cottage and presented Harry with this precious responsibility. Instead, it had been less than four months. Teddy was still so tiny... he seemed to weigh about as much as a potato.

The memories of Remus and Tonks were so vivid here in this room, with Teddy. Harry found himself blinking rather rapidly. "I'll make sure to remember them to him," he said quietly. "He'll know everything I know about them. I'll make sure he knows how brave they were."

Harry thought he might have seen a tear in her eye before she brushed it away.

He left not too much longer, after another cup of water. Teddy began to get rather fractious. "He'll be needing his nap... thank you so much for coming by to see us, Harry, and on your birthday!"

Harry passed his godson to his grandmother's waiting arms, waved his goodbyes, and left the house. He did not leave immediately, but wandered off across the house's untidy lawn, and over to the pond in which he and Hagrid had crashed a year ago. He thought of Hedwig, and felt a pang. She'd been his first friend that belonged to the wizarding world, from which Harry had been exiled through no fault of his own, at the age of one.

Tearing himself away from his memories, he Disapparated on the spot.

Ron was waiting for him at the Apparition point just beyond the Burrow's little gate. His grin was wide and cheerful. "Hey, mate, we've all just had a fantastic idea," he said. He reached into his pocket and drew out tiny-sized versions of Harry's trunk and rucksack. "I thought instead of being here with all the old people, we could head over to Grimmauld Place and get you set up."

Harry looked at him. Ron's face, but Hermione's words. They'd practiced this. "Sounds good," he said thickly. "I've always thought of Grimmauld Place and being a particularly festive spot…"

Ron barked out a laugh. "Hermione's already there, she brought along your present."

"You didn't have to get me anything," said Harry, as Ron grabbed his arm and Apparated them both to London.

Harry'd not been here since the day they'd stolen the Horcrux from around Umbridge's neck, and he was nervous at what they would find inside. As he recalled, it had taken the Order of the Phoenix months to make the place livable… but what if in his absence, the house had reverted back to its uninhabitable state? His imagination conjured up all sorts of magical vermin.

But his worries were in vain. If anything, the house looked better than when he'd left it. "Kreacher," Harry breathed with a sigh of relief.

"Master called?"

Kreacher's sudden appearance startled Harry so much that if Ron hadn't caught him, he'd've gone flying back down the front stoop. "Er, yes," he said, as Ron laughed. "Yes. The house looks wonderful," he said. "Thank you for keeping it up."

Kreacher's little chest swelled with importance. "Kreacher was doing his duty," he said in his bullfrog voice.

"And you were excellent at it," said Harry. Once Kreacher had bowed and popped out of sight, he mumbled to Ron, "I forgot how he sort of just jumps out at you like that." He slapped Ron on the arm. "It's not  _that_ funny."

Ron's laughter set the tone for the rest of the evening. Harry could not remember the last time he'd had so much fun. He gazed around the table – Hermione'd gone and retrieved hampers of food from the Leaky Cauldron, Harry'd have enough to eat for an entire week – and Ginny'd used the absence of her parents to create a mouth-wateringly delicious cake out of a few ingredients. He did not even mind that they made him wear an absurd little hat they'd found in one of the cupboards… probably from the Christmas they'd spent here during Harry's fifth year…

"This is brilliant," Harry said, looking round at them.

"We have presents for you, too," Hermione said. Ron erupted from the table, knocking over his chair.

"I'll get it!" he said eagerly.

It turned out to be a rather magnificent set of armbands. "The Australian Aurors use these," said Ron. "Look – you can see where you can holster your wand… and they're made with – with – I forget what kind of leather. Australia has all sorts of mad things that want to eat you."

Ginny laughed. "That goes perfectly with my gift," she said. With a twirl of her wand, a small package whirled into existence on the table. Harry opened it, and found a curse-o-meter, one of the instruments he'd need during his Auror training.

"Thank you! This is brilliant!" Harry said again.

The rest of the evening was just as full of merriment. They played a high-stakes game of Exploding Snap, and Ron taught them all how to play Wizards at War, which was about an hour and a half of him explaining the rules, and then fifteen minutes of him destroying all of them. Harry would definitely have to play again after he'd picked up a rulebook of his own. It was after midnight before Ron and Hermione, still not used to the time change from Australia, and both yawning hugely, Flooed back to the Burrow.

Ginny lingered after Ron and Hermione left. "I have another gift for you," she said, a little shyly. Harry smiled at her.

"Is it a repeat of my seventeenth? Because I really enjoyed that one," he pointed out.

Instead of answering, she kissed him until they were both trembling and breathing rather quickly. Harry could not help but wonder at how brilliant she was, and how lucky he had it. All too soon, it became evident that they could get into serious trouble being left alone in this big house. With no small amount of regret, Harry broke apart from her, helped her refasten her shirt, and put his back on.

"We… shouldn't," he said.

Her eyes were dilated in the low light. "I know," she said reluctantly.

He kissed her again before he walked her down to the kitchen. "Thank you for the wonderful birthday," he told her.

"See you, Harry," she said.

Finally, she left, and Harry wandered the house and up to Sirius's room, in which he had most often slept. He laid down on the bed, still wearing his clothes, and fell asleep reliving the birthday gift Ginny had given him.


	3. The Vengeful Probity Probe

CHAPTER THREE

THE VENGEFUL PROBITY PROBE

It was very convenient to have a home connected to the Floo Network, Harry thought. He tumbled out of the fire at the Leaky Cauldron three minutes before he was to meet the Weasleys. It had taken quite a bit longer than expected to perform the charm that would allow him to wander through Diagon Alley unnoticed. Whether or not Harry felt he particularly deserved his fame, it could be quite inconvenient.

The Leaky Cauldron was the link between Muggle and magical. The Muggles hurried past it — it was protected by a charm very similar to the one Harry now wore — without thinking anything of yet another dingy old London pub. The witches and wizards, however, knew it led to the crooked street where everyone did their shopping. It had been Harry's first real introduction to the magical society in Britain, and he looked around at it fondly. Old Tom was doing a lively business today. It took a moment of searching for Harry to find a cluster of redheads moving toward the brick wall that provided entrance.

Harry hurried toward them.

They emerged into Diagon Alley as a group, and Harry blinked in the sudden sunshine. It was a shockingly lovely day for London in August, and Harry was glad — beautiful weather was a good way to celebrate Ginny's birthday, and her coming of age.

"Happy seventeenth!" he smiled at her, and squeezed her hand.

"Harry! You made it!" Ron said loudly.

"I wouldn't miss it," he said. Ginny had wanted to go to Diagon Alley for her birthday, and have a dinner with her family at one of the more exotic eateries in Diagon Alley, Chopped Liver. The name made Harry slightly nervous, but Hermione assured him that it got nothing but good reviews.

"Where to first?" Mrs. Weasley asked her daughter indulgently.

"Well... I don't know, let's just look around..."

It was quite unlike the Diagon Alley Harry'd been to the previous May. It was tidier. There were fewer homeless and wandless witches and wizards (though Harry did spy one or two). Walking by one, he dropped a few knuts (he was long out of galleons at this point, and had to make a trip to Gringotts, an occasion he dreaded) into her outstretched witch's hat. The miserable atmosphere had dissipated, leaving hope in its wake. Harry saw hope everywhere, from a merry family bursting out of Eelyops's with an owl, to stores with signs emblazoned: GRAND RE-OPENING. Ollivander's was still closed, Harry knew; last he'd spoken to Ollivander, the man was trying to rebuild his inventory. Instead of a shop, there were a few carts scattered here and there, with wands for sale laying atop them.

"Ginny? Do you mind if I stop in at the apothecary?" Mrs. Weasley asked warmly.

They then made plans to meet in a couple hours, and Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny hurried off up the crooked little street.

"You know where we should go first," Hermione said reluctantly.

He, Ron, and Hermione shielded their eyes and gazed up at Gringotts looming ahead of them. The last time they'd been there, they'd left on the back of a dragon after blowing up the roof. It had been put back together, Harry noted. They exchanged nervous glances. Harry had procrastinated all summer, but the moment was finally at hand; he had to access his vault. His palm was wet with sweat.

"Well, I think we should get it over with," said Ron.

"Me too," said Hermione.

But it wasn't until Ginny'd given all three of them a little shove that they walked up the marble steps, and into the cavernous bank. At first no one noticed they were there. The other witches and wizards did their business. The mutters were a low hum in Harry's ear. They shuffled their feet and found a place in line, desperately avoiding everyone's stare. Harry was devoutly grateful for the Notice-Me-Not charm.

The back of his neck prickled. Little pockets of silence grew larger. He gripped Ginny's hand tightly as one by one, everyone recognized Ron and Hermione. He could feel the hostility coming off the goblins like body heat.

One of them appeared before him. "Take off the charm," he said.

Harry complied.

The goblin did not say another word, just ushered the four of them into a private chamber. Another goblin came in and performed security measures so intense that it took nearly all his willpower to keep stoic. Only Ginny was exempt from the procedure. Ron was mumbling under his breath, Hermione was wincing at a particularly vengeful Probity Probe, and Harry just wanted it to be over.

Looking resentful, the goblins were finally satisfied that none of them were going to break into a highly secure vault and make off with a dragon. Two more goblins appeared, and four security trolls. The ride down to Harry's vault was unlike anything Harry had experienced before. He imagined this was how it felt to be escorted to Azkaban. They were all in their own car, and they were crawling down the tracks so the security trolls — large, green, and carrying intimidating clubs — could keep up with them.

When they finally arrived at his vault, Harry tumbled out with relief. The head goblin opened the door—

—and Harry rolled back a step, eyes growing huge.

Harry'd spent most of his childhood poor, and when he'd come to Gringott's at age eleven, the gold his parents had left him had seemed like a mountain. This... this was a mountain range. He'd no idea — he ought to have, he supposed — that the decent sized portion of gold Dumbledore had mentioned in his sixth year was far more than "decent sized".

"You inherited Bellatrix Lestrange's vault as well," the lead goblin said resentfully.

Ron guffawed. "After all we went through to break in—"

One of the security trolls thwacked his club against his meaty palm, and Ron broke off his sentence. Sweat beaded on Harry's brow. There was nothing he wanted from Bellatrix Lestrange, and could not imagine why her gold had come to him.

"I don't want it," Harry said flatly. "Take it out." He did not want her things mixed with his parents's... with Sirius's...

"It's not in here," said the goblin. "It remains in the Lestrange vault."

Harry nodded, a muscle jumping in his jaw. Taking a deep breath, he entered the vault. As with the Lestrange's vault last year, it held not only money, but bits of furniture, artwork, and—

"Oo, look, Harry!" enthused Hermione. "You've got books!"

Harry was not entirely interested, but he looked them over. There were stacks of them. One caught his eye:  _Amortality: an Understanding_. If amortality was anything like immortality, he had had quite enough of that for his lifetime, thank you very much. "You can have them if you want," he said. "Go on... take them..."

An idea struck him. "In fact," he said, conjuring up several heavy velvet bags, "why don't we all take a bag? Except we've got to promise we'll have fun with it..."

Ron began filling his immediately, but it took time to convince Hermione and Ginny. "C'mon," said Harry, "I'd rather not have any of this... I'd rather have the people who left it to me... just grab a bag, and let's have fun with it."

"Blimey, Harry!" said Ron. "Thanks!"

"Thanks for helping me with Voldemort," Harry said quietly.

He felt the pressure of the goblins's eyes on him, and was quite glad when everyone was done filling their bag. Hermione finished packing every book in the vault into her little beaded purse, and Ron was merrily swinging his bag back and forth. Harry'd only meant to fill one bag of his own, but he'd ended up with four. It was more money than he could use in five years... ten years, even... but Harry did not want to have to return to Gringott's any time soon...

It was with no small amount of relief that Harry left the cool, cavernous building for the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley. "Why don't we split up?" he said. "That way we can get Ginny her birthday presents without her watching over our shoulders?" He already knew exactly what he was getting her, and hoped the line at Quality Quidditch Supply was not that long.

All four of them agreed to meet in front of Flourish and Blotts in an hour, and Harry sped off. Both he and Ginny deserved a new broom for having survived the last year, he felt. As he walked, his enthusiasm for the idea grew. The Firebolt was still the top of the line, he'd read. Every year, the company modified and tightened the design, and Harry was practically drooling by the time he stood in front of the shop-keeper and said, "Two firebolts, please!"

The small, pudgy man whose mustache reminded him of Vernon Dursley, quivered at him. "Harry Potter!" he said. "As I live and breathe."

Harry had the uncomfortable experience of everyone in the shop turning to stare. Time ticked by as everyone wanted a handshake. Harry could hardly refuse them, could he? Finally, after he'd shaken everyone's hand (thankfully no more than once), they let him buy the Firebolts. Half his time had gone.

He'd only gone a few steps before he saw Mr. Weasley standing near the wand cart, and he changed direction.

A second before it happened, the hair on Harry's neck stood up, and he flung himself to the side. A hateful little curse whooshed past him, singeing his robes. The roof of the building ahead of him erupted, but Harry did not stand about and watch. He shouted, "PROTEGO!" and his shield blossomed in between himself and where the curse had come from. He craned his neck, looking for the perpetrator, and found—

—no one.

There was a small space in between the building that housed Quality Quidditch Supply and another shop. It was empty of even litter. No one was there.

A hand clasped Harry's arm, managing to grasp right where the curse had singed him... there must have been a tiny cut, for the touch burned a little. Harry whirled, raising his wand again — and lowered it upon seeing Mr. Weasley's pained, resolute face.

"Mr. Weasley, the person who cursed the—"

"No one cursed anything, Harry," Mr. Weasley said sharply.

Harry took a step back. "But—"

"No one cursed anything," he repeated, almost sounding angry. "It was the wand cart... it exploded. I knew it was going to happen."

Harry opened his mouth, but something in Mr. Weasley's face told him that the man's mind could not be changed. And Harry was confused. He'd FELT the curse, hadn't he? Felt the spiteful blast of wind rush past him? Suddenly doubtful, Harry frowned. If Mr. Weasley was sure... he was older, more experienced. He could be trusted.

"One of the wands on the cart exploded?" Harry asked uncertainly.

Mr. Weasley nodded. "Now, why don't you go back and do... whatever it was you were doing?"

Harry knew a dismissal when he heard one. Once Mr. Weasley had strode off, he ducked into the little niche, renewed his Notice Me Not charm, and rolled up the sleeve of his robes. There was a tiny slit in the fabric, and a thin red line across Harry's arm.

You can trust Mr. Weasley, Harry told himself sternly. He knows what he's about. But it was not in his nature to ignore the evidence of his own senses in favor of someone else's, and Harry brooded over it in the small, specialty store that sold various magical instruments. He spied a set of silver mirrors — they looked exactly like the pair he and Sirius had had — and immediately brought it to the front.

Harry'd just finished buying the mirrors when it was time to meet the others at Flourish and Blotts. He saw Ron first — he'd gone all out with Chrysler Cannons gear, and now looked like an enthusiastic pumpkin. Hermione's arms were suspiciously empty: Harry suspected she'd bought a copy of every book in the store, and had put them in her little beaded purse. Ginny was looking straight at him, a smile on her face, and a cage holding an owl in her hand.

"She's yours!" Ginny cried as he came closer.

"You were supposed to buy stuff for yourself!" said Harry. "It's YOUR birthday!"

Ginny shook her head. "This way we can write letters easily at school," she pointed out. "That'll be a nice gift."

Harry gave her a swift kiss. "She's brilliant, Ginny, thank you."

"We'd better go meet Mum and Dad," said Ron, looking at his watch. "It's almost time."

Harry pushed open the door to Chopped Liver. Bill and Fleur were already there, waiting for service. Both were humming a haunting melody, and Bill was tapping along to it; Harry thought he'd heard it before. He was not into the wizarding music scene, but there were a few bands he liked...

Harry was about to ask what song they were humming when a green-haired server came to get them and led them to a private parlor where Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were waiting.

Mr. Weasley took him aside. "You didn't worry them unnecessarily by telling them you thought someone cursed you, right?"

"Er, no," said Harry.

"Good. Please don't," he said. "Oh, and Harry—"

"Yes?"

"Maybe I ought to get your share of the meal now, before we forget," he said.

"Oh, right, of course," said Harry. He had no idea how much a meal would cost in a place like this, so he counted out fifteen galleons. Mr. Weasley pocketed them with a slight grimace.

The meal was quite good, but unlike anything Harry had eaten before. The servers paraded out each course so extravagantly that Harry could not help but laugh. One had a trick that impressed him — ingredients came flying at him, and the chef made them collide with each other and do battle until he presented the table with a meat pie. Harry applauded with the rest of them.

"Great choice!" he told Ginny.

Even his new owl appeared to like it.

After dinner, they had dessert. A shape the shape of a quaffle floated out, opened its mouth, and sang a rousing "Happy birthday" to Ginny. They all ate with gusto; it was delicious.

Then it was time for presents.

"Here's mine!" Harry beamed at her, after she'd finished opening gifts from her parents, Bill and Fleur, and Ron and Hermione. He lifted the charm he'd placed on the package. It'd been necessary... no way would anyone not know what was in it the moment they saw it.

Her eyes grew round. "Harry! You didn't!" she squealed. The Firebolt gleamed in the dim lighting. "Oh Merlin. I love it. This is fantastic. I—"

"Will have to return it," Mrs. Weasley said fiercely. Harry glanced at her so fast he felt a twinge in his neck. Her cheeks were red and her eyes flashed angrily.

"What?" Ron said blankly.

"Why?" Ginny asked in a hard voice.

"This gift is  _much_  too expensive," Mr. Weasley said. He gave Harry a hard stare.

"It's completely inappropriate," added Mrs. Weasley.

Harry stared down at his plate, blinking fiercely. He could not remember a time when he'd felt quite so humiliated. Ron and Ginny were arguing loudly with their parents. Harry could feel a sympathetic gaze: Hermione's. Still, he did not look up.

Ginny finally passed the Firebolt back to him; it had been rewrapped rather haphazardly.

Bill pulled him aside after they all stood to leave. "I realize you have a lot more money than we do," he said. His werewolf scar made it impossible for Harry to read his face. "But Ginny's family is the one who ought to give her the big presents. Not the boyfriend she's been seeing a few weeks."

Harry's stomach dropped and he flushed a bright red. "It wasn't just—"

"It looked like you were trying to show up Mum and Dad," Bill said implacably.

"But I—"

Harry wished he could make Bill and the others understand that he had not thought any such thing. How could Harry have had such horrid intentions, when he'd been friends with the Weasleys for so long? They'd done everything for him!

And maybe they're regretting it, a nasty thought occurred to him. Harry felt faintly nauseated.

Bill nodded once, and let him go.

They were rather more solemn as they walked back to the Leaky Cauldron. Both broomsticks were very heavy, especially alongside his new owl. It was fully dark out, and Harry focused all his attention on not tripping. No one was conversing much anyway.

"Thanks for everything, Harry," Ginny whispered. "I'll come by later, all right?"

Harry nodded, and his heart lifted a little.

Harry got his new owl situated and did a little cleaning as he waited for Ginny to come over. He very resolutely kept his mind off of dinner, the look in some of their eyes, and the hurt he'd felt in his bones. They were grieving, he told himself. Look at how you treated your best friends in fifth year. They were grieving. There was no other reason for it.

"I have to be back at ten," said Ginny, as soon as she exited the floo.

"But it's almost nine-thirty!" Harry said indignantly. That gave them hardly any time.

"I know," said Ginny. Then she blushed. "I think Mum worries what we might... get up to all alone in this big house."

Harry felt his own cheeks heat. It wasn't as though he hadn't thought about it, especially now that Ginny was of age; he'd thought about it endlessly. He had an inkling that Ron and Hermione had acted on their feelings for each other, and of course he wondered what it would be like if he and Ginny did the same.

Bloody brilliant, Harry expected.

Harry led her upstairs into the sitting room they'd cleared out a long time ago. Neither one of them spoke of the Firebolt, and what had happened at dinner. Harry was perfectly happy pretending it had never happened, that one of his gifts had not gone so far awry. He thought of giving her one of the mirrors, but discarded that idea. That could be done at King's Cross. Instead, he drew her onto the sofa, sank his fingers into her hair, and kissed her.

In no time at all, Ginny had pressed him backward, and was sitting astride him... they were rocking against each other in a way they never had before, and Harry approved whole-heartedly. Ginny kissed him as she never really had, and Harry had her curves in his hand... it was brilliant, he never wanted it to end.

But Ron's voice, magically amplified, came from the basement kitchen. "OI! Ginny, you're late! Better hurry, or Mum'll have kittens."

Both Harry and Ginny flew into motion, grabbing discarded items of clothing and laughing giddily. Harry watched her, smiling, but wishing they'd had more time. She kissed him one more time, and disappeared down the stairs.

After that, Harry was restless. He took a shower, and that helped some, but he was still full of a strange energy by the time he went to bed. He kept reliving the evening, lingering on how Ginny'd looked, how she'd felt in his hand...

Harry's thoughts of Ginny segued into very pleasant dreams of Ginny... they were laying on the couch together, kissing, and Harry knew they were fully undressed... she whispered in his ear...

"You aren't alone."

Of course he wasn't alone... he had Ginny here in his arms, and they were about to—

"YOU AREN'T ALONE."

Harry sat up with a start, heart thumping, wide awake. Grimmauld Place was quiet as a tomb, but some instinct had brought him out of a dream. He wasn't alone. Harry grabbed both the holly-and-phoenix wand, and the Elder Wand, and swung his legs over the bed. His heart continued to race as he opened the bedroom door as silently as he could and stole onto the upper floor landing.

The carpet runner was threadbare and coming up in places, but Harry was grateful for it as he padded down the stairs. The house creaked and swayed... Harry thought he heard a tinkling sound... he pushed open one of the doors on the third floor. It was empty, except for a few portraits and landscapes. All the inhabitants of the paintings stared at him; Harry could see the whites around their eyes.

He put his finger to his lips, and backed out of the room.

Harry was searching the room next door when he heard Mrs. Black start screaming. He headed toward her at a run, a wand in both fists, heart racing wildly. He skidded down the last two flights of stairs—

—and Mrs. Black abruptly stopped screaming. Adrenaline flowed through Harry now, and he remembered that she wasn't even located in the downstairs foyer anymore; Kreacher had taken her into his small den on the second floor. Harry took to the stairs again, slower this time. He had never fully appreciated how creepy Grimmauld Place was, with its faulty light, and sense of abandonment; its long corridors, like the one Harry traced now. His breath was too loud, but so he held it. He was nearly to Kreacher's den.

"Master!" a voice croaked.

Harry jumped, heart in his throat. "You! It was you?" he asked the house-elf.

"Not me, I didn't take down the wards," said Kreacher. "I was at Hogwarts."

Harry and Kreacher stared at one another, both of them were very confused. "The wards are down?" Harry finally asked in a whisper.

"Not all of them," Kreacher tried to whisper as well; it was nearly as loud as a shout.

"Is someone trying to get in?" Harry asked urgently, voice rising. Then, without waiting for an answer, Harry began warding the house properly. Why had the wards the Order of the Phoenix had put up started to come down? He knew that all that was left of the Fidelius Charm were tatters, but Dumbledore and Moody, Remus and Sirius, Mr. Weasley and Kingsley... they'd all placed powerful wards around the place. Was it because so many of them were dead? Had that weakened the protections around Grimmauld Place?

" _Salvio hexia_ ," said Harry. Then, he did what he ought to have done when he'd first been alarmed: " _homenum revelio_ ," he said.

He was alone.

Harry stared down at the floor, mind racing. Were his instincts — which had served him so well — failing him? Confused and dismayed, Harry continued to add every protection he remembered from the Horcrux hunt to Grimmauld Place. With every spell, he felt less exposed, and by the time he was done, he was exhausted enough that Harry thought he might be able to sleep again.

Over the next few days, he continued to add protections. He wished he could ask Hermione for help, but he did not want to tell her why he needed it. Did not want to admit that he'd been afraid of being alone in that big house, that his instincts might be telling him outright lies. He'd troubled her enough for a lifetime, Harry felt.

But he couldn't hide it from himself, that his instincts were constantly warning him that something was terribly wrong.


	4. A Swarm of Shadows

CHAPTER FOUR

A SWARM OF SHADOWS

"What is that?"

Ron sounded alarmed, and Harry forced himself to move faster. He panted heavily, and there was a stitch in his side, but he was moving as fast as he could.

The four of them had decided not to spend most of the day at the Burrow, and were instead heading up to visit Luna Lovegood. It had been Ginny's suggestion: "I just want to know how she is... I haven't heard from her in a while." Then Hermione suggested it was a lovely day for a walk, and then there they were, walking up a bloody mountain.

"Last — time — I — walk — up — this," gasped Harry. Ginny trailed him, and Hermione brought up the rear.

"But what the hell is that?" asked Ron. He pointed back toward the way they came, but a little to the west. Harry looked around, squinting at the glare. At first he saw nothing out of the ordinary. He could see the path they'd taken — walking through the fields and up a country lane — winding its way back toward the crooked house.

"Not there," Ron said urgently. He jabbed his finger: "There."

Harry looked and saw a copse of woods. It was dark and uninviting. Even the sun did not seem to want to go near it — Harry peered closer. Were the— the shadows were moving. That section of wood seemed to pulsate with shadows. A chill crawled up Harry's spine as he realized what those shadows were.

A swarm of Dementors had taken over that bit of woods. Harry shuddered. The misty darkness on such an otherwise bright and warm day was so innately wrong that he actually, physically shuddered. Ginny grabbed his arm. He looked at her; her face was as green as he felt.

"That's sickening," she said. "What are they doing here?"

They stuck close together as they walked back down the mountain. Harry reviewed everything he knew about Dementors; unfortunately, this was precious little. "Hermione, where do Dementors go when things are... happier again?" he asked. He'd always associated them with darkness; now that Voldemort was gone, it felt wrong that they were still there. It was doubly wrong that they'd be here in Devon, so close to the Weasleys... so close to the Lovegoods...

That overwhelming sense of wrongness only grew stronger the closer they got. The Dementors did not seem to have any interest in them at all, but were drifting forward and backward. Harry could hear them; their cloaks muttered in the slight breeze. It was starting to get cold; Harry's arms erupted with gooseflesh. As one, the four stopped, some instinct warning them not to get any closer.

"I think I should tell Dad," said Ron. Shadows had fallen over his face.

Harry nodded.

Ron summoned his patronus, a Jack Russell terrier, and sent it to the Burrow with an urgent message. Then he took three giant steps backward, and sent red sparks shooting out of his wand. "I told him to watch for the flare," he explained.

Seconds later, Arthur Weasley appeared, wearing faded robes and a worried expression. Harry took a step back.

"Dad, look," Ron said, pointing.

Mr. Weasley turned to look at the haunted wood, and seemed to lose all the blood in his face he turned so pale. "Dementors, here?" he murmured. He began to circle the copse of woods; the four teenagers followed him, but gave him plenty of space.

"Don't come any closer!" he called to them. And then he crossed that invisible line Harry and the others had seemed to sense. It was as if he had kicked a beehive. Harry very nearly embarrassed himself as the Dementors turned to Mr. Weasley and screeched. It was a horrid, inhuman sound. It curdled Harry's insides. Hermione muffled a sob. And then images crowded into Harry's mind – Sirius falling through the veil… Fred dying… all the bodies in the Great Hall… Cedric Diggory falling dead right after he'd won the Tri-Wizard Tournament…

And then – he saw with panic – that Mr. Weasley had fallen to his knees. "Expecto patronum," he repeated over and over again. Nothing happened. "EXPECTO PATRONUM!  _EXPECTO PATRONUM!"_ But his patronus never showed up, and the Dementors were converging on him—

" _EXPECTO PATRONUM!_ " Harry bellowed. His stag erupted from the end of his wand as though it had been waiting impatiently for Harry to call it. It charged toward Mr. Weasley, and made it there just in time to throw back the first three Dementors.

Ron surged forward and grabbed his father, dragging him by the back of his robes, and Apparating him away. Hermione followed them, disappearing with a pop.

Harry was caught between wanting to follow them, and wanting to head back to Grimmauld Place. Harry had just witnessed something private and personal. Mr. Weasley, so caught in his grief for what had happened to one of his twins, was unable to produce a patronus. It made Harry uncomfortable to have witnessed that, especially considering how cold and distant Mr. Weasley had been. Harry had a shrewd guess that Mr. Weasley would not be pleased to have a reminder that Harry'd been there to witness (and ultimately save him from) his grief.

He shook it off. "Let's go," he said to Ginny.

It was supposed to have been such a pleasant day. Ginny'd had the idea to go visit Luna; they hadn't seen her since the funerals, and Harry, who had wanted to spend time with her, but had not wanted to be at the Burrow, had seized on the idea. "We can have a picnic lunch," he'd enthused. "I just hope we don't have to drink that plimpy tea," Ron'd put in.

It amazed him how swiftly the day had gone dark.

Harry and Ginny Disapparated, and reappeared just outside the Burrow's fence. He tipped his head back, looking at it, feeling a pang of nostalgia and regret. Ginny gripped his arm tightly as they hopped the fence, and walked up the little path.

Mrs. Weasley poked her head out of the door. "What's happened?! Arthur hasn't said anything; Ron's force-feeding him chocolate!"

"There's… some sort of Dementor swarm just over there," Ginny gestured. "We found it, and called Dad to come help… then…" she swallowed, hard. "The Dementors almost got him—"

"WHAT?!" Mrs. Weasley bellowed.

"Dad… couldn't cast a Patronus," said Ginny. "Harry had to save him."

Mrs. Weasley tossed him a glance that curdled Harry's stomach. The door cast odd shadows on her face, giving it a strange, alien appearance. "Oh, I'm sure Harry charged right in," she said in a tone Harry'd never heard from her before.

"Mum!" Ginny said sharply.

With what seemed to take immense effort, Mrs. Weasley pulled her face into an expression that Harry was sure was meant to be friendly, but did not quite make it. "Harry,  _if_ what my daughter says is true, we appreciate it. At least you –  _usually_ – manage to help the people you put in danger. But we've had quite enough for one day. We need to come together  _as a family_  and figure out what's going on."

Harry's face burned. It was all too clear that Mrs. Weasley was telling him to leave. He kicked himself for not just going straight to Grimmauld Place… he'd had an inkling something like this might happen. "All right, Mrs. Weasley," he said quietly. Then, to Ginny, who appeared to be on the verge of losing her temper: "I'll see you later."

"We'll see," said Mrs. Weasley. She stood at the door like a sentinel.

"See you, Harry," Ginny said, casting her mother a defiant look.

Harry strode back to the Apparition point. He did not look back.

 _It's grief_ , he was still telling himself three hours later. He'd not heard from anyone, not even Hermione.  _It's grief. They've lost all sense…_ The fact Arthur Weasley could not produce a Patronus was proof. Grief changed people. It made them lash out. People said hurtful things when they were grieving.

Harry repeated all of this to himself like a mantra.

"Dad's sent an owl to the Ministry," said Ginny. Harry nearly jumped. "Sorry, Harry, didn't mean to startle you."

"It's fine," Harry said, heart racing. "Are you supposed to be here?"

Ever since her birthday, her parents had been increasingly strict on how much time Ginny was allowed to spend over here alone. Harry thought he understood. If they knew how… close they were getting, Ginny'd probably never be allowed over.

"Ron's on his way," Ginny shrugged. "I didn't really give them a choice."

Ginny was less sanguine about her parents' attitude, and had become increasingly angry with them.

"She didn't mean it," Harry told her. There was a tremor in his voice that he didn't quite hide. "It's everything with Fred, and… and…"

"I've found some information on Dementors, Harry," Hermione walked in, carrying seven different books. She had a grass stain down her robes where she must have fallen. "Where'd you run off to? I can't believe you didn't stay."

Harry and Ginny exchanged a look. She shook her head imperceptibly, then shrugged, which Harry took to mean that she hadn't told them, but Harry could if he wanted to.

"What about the Dementors?"

Hermione launched into the sort of convoluted explanation she was famous for back at Hogwarts. "…and the truth is," she said, waving a book at him, "we don't really  _know_ much about Dementors."

Harry snatched the book. It was old, and the binding was coming undone. "But this is a history of Azkaban!" he said.

"A history of Azkaban is a history of Dementors," Hermione said. "That's what I've just been telling you."

"Well, not  _quite_  in those words," said Ginny, amused.

Harry flipped through the pages, and found a passage that seemed likely:

_Azkaban has existed since the fifteenth century and was not originally a prison at all. The island in the North Sea upon which the first fortress was built never appeared on any map, Muggle or wizarding, and is believed to have been created, or enlarged, by magical means._

_The fortress upon it was originally home to a little-known sorcerer who called himself Ekrizdis. Evidently extremely powerful, but of unknown nationality, Ekrizdis, who is believed to have been insane, was a practitioner of the worst kinds of Dark Arts. Alone in the middle of the ocean, he lured, tortured and killed Muggle sailors, apparently for pleasure, and only when he died, and the concealment charms he had cast faded away, did the Ministry of Magic realise that either island or building existed. Those who entered to investigate refused afterwards to talk of what they had found inside, but the least frightening part of it was that the place was infested with Dementors._

_Many in authority thought Azkaban an evil place that was best destroyed. Others were afraid of what might happen to the Dementors infesting the building if they deprived them of their home. The creatures were already strong and impossible to kill; many feared a horrible revenge if they took away a habitat where they appeared to thrive. The very walls of the building seemed steeped in misery and pain, and the Dementors were determined to cling to it. Experts who had studied buildings built with and around Dark magic contended that Azkaban might wreak its own revenge upon anybody attempting to destroy it. The fortress was therefore left abandoned for many years, a home to continually breeding Dementors…_

_Once the International Statute of Secrecy had been imposed, the Ministry of Magic felt that the small wizarding prisons that existed up and down the country in various towns and villages posed a security risk, because attempts by incarcerated witches and wizards to break out often led to undesirable bangs, smells and light shows. A purpose-built prison, located on some remote Hebridean island, was preferred, and plans had been drawn up when Damocles Rowle became Minister for Magic.*_

"This was in the 15th century," said Hermione. "We didn't really  _have_ Dementors in Britain before that… there could be older texts, but we just don't  _know_ how they behave when they live outside of Azkaban."

"It looks like they're doing around here what they do in Azkaban," said Ron, who had come in halfway through Harry's reading. "They've right infested that spot. Kingsley looked shaken when we took him out there. I didn't notice it before, but they've seeped into the trees, the ground…"

"How are they protecting the Burrow?" Harry asked sharply. He did not like the idea of the Dementors infesting a patch of land so close to where Ginny lived.

"The Aurors have been there. They couldn't get rid of the Dementors. There are too many, and they're too strong. But they created a protective circle around the area to keep them in."

"That's a good idea," Hermione said. "We ought to do that here, just in case."

It turned out that protecting a home against Dementors involved all sorts of things, and most of those had to do with creating Cheering Charms. They did the whole perimeter of the house, and by the time they'd finished one side, Harry was smiling from ear to ear. Everything was extraordinarily funny, even Hermione's long-winded explanations. The four of them frequently dissolved into laughter… it was excellent, Harry thought privately. They ought to ward the house against Dementors every day. It was better than Christmas…

"The charms are fresh, that's why we're all so happy," Hermione said before they left. She was smiling widely.

Harry laughed. "How long does it last?"

"You used the Elder Wand, so there's no real way of knowing," she said.

Harry snorted. "Have a guess, then," he suggested.

"A few weeks? A month?"

Harry nodded. Ron and Hermione exchanged a look, then left through the floo. As soon as he and Ginny were alone, Harry lifted her up against the wall and kissed her. "I've been wanting to do that since this morning," he said.

They kissed fiercely. Harry opened her robes, tugged her undershirt down, and buried his face there. He tried to kiss every freckle… she tugged at his hair, murmuring words of encouragement, bringing him more urgently against her. Harry pulled back. "You're so beautiful," he said hoarsely.

She smiled at him, an open smile he did not think was caused by excessive exposure to Cheering Charms. He gazed down at her, taking in the beauty of her curves, wondering how it was he got so lucky.

He was about to kiss her again—

"Oi, Ginny," Ron's voice came from around the corner. "You better get home, Mum's on the warpath…"

A grimace replaced her smile, and she disentangled herself from his arms. Harry felt oddly bereft.

"I'll see you, Harry," she said quietly.

As soon as she left, Harry headed straight for the shower. He did not expect to find any more stolen moments with Ginny until who knew when? Mrs. Weasley was tightening her fist, and then Ginny would be away at Hogwarts… But he could not quite keep a morose thought in his head. Harry leaned his head up against the tile and stroked himself. The Cheering Charms were preventing him from brooding… Harry definitely liked this. He'd rather think of Ginny, anyway.

He was right, though. He and Ginny did not get much of a chance to spend some private time together. By the end of the summer, Mrs. Weasley barely let her daughter and Ron come over at all, and Harry was staying away from the Burrow. The night before she left for Hogwarts, however, Ginny sent him an owl, telling him to meet her at midnight at the edge of the property, and they spent several hours flying across the sky together.

Harry's happiness that night had nothing to do with the Cheering Charms.

September was colder than usual that year, Harry felt. He rubbed his arms as he crossed the street. The small park to which he had Apparated had been deserted, thankfully, so he'd pulled off his Cloak and stuffed it into his Muggle clothing. It bulged in his front, making him look like he had a bit of a belly. The thought made him chuckle. One thing he had to say about the wards they'd put up to ward off Dementors: It made him feel cheerful and buoyant. It was a welcome change.

King's Cross station was a hive of activity as usual. Harry looked around, feeling uncommonly sentimental. He'd missed out on his seventh year, he realized. Hunting Voldemort's Horcruxes had been far more important than Harry's education. The Ministry had fallen before Hogwarts had even reopened for the fall term, and Harry certainly couldn't have gone back even if he HADN'T had other important things to do. He'd've been a sitting duck at Hogwarts.

These dark and nostalgic thoughts distracted him as he made his way up the marble stairs, past bickering families, and across a marble floor. So distracted was he that he did not notice a food cart rolling toward him rapidly, nor did he register that people were yelling at him, specifically, and not just having one last fight before they were separated for who knows how long.

"Oi!" a long arm reached out and snagged Harry out of the way. A second later, it barreled past, slammed into a post, and promptly caught fire.

Harry and Ron stared at it, glanced at each other, and started to laugh. "You could have been run over!" said Ron.

"But what an illustrious way to go," said Harry.

"This place gets more mental every year, the Muggles have always got something odd going on," Ron shook his head.

"That reminds me, I do NOT want to go in there without a notice-me-not charm," said Harry. The last thing he wanted was to be interrupted when he was trying to say goodbye to his girlfriend. He tapped his wand, and cast the charm quickly. It was probably shoddy work, but it would get the job done for the next few minutes.

Despite the late night flying with Ginny, Harry was feeling energetic, especially after the near miss from death by Muggle food cart. At least it couldn't have been a wizard or witch after me, Harry thought. The place had so many wards and protective charms on it that it was a wonder anyone could draw their wand...

The incident was half-forgotten by the time Harry and Ron had made it through the barrier to Platform 9 3/4, and totally forgotten when he saw Ginny sitting on her trunk, hand on her chin, surrounded by her entire family.

His steps slowed, and Ron slowed with him. He appeared to be on the verge of saying something—

"I'm here! Am I late?!" Hermione burst through the barrier at top speed, wearing her Hogwarts robes half done over a Muggle outfit. Harry was surprised. He'd not seen her so undone since some time during their six or so months of camping.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Hermione and Ron exchanged a look. "Never mind," Harry said quickly. He had an inkling he knew why Hermione had been late, and did not need it to be confirmed in so public a setting. He'd take the mickey out of Ron later.

They remained loitering there until Ginny came up and looped her arm through his. Harry was relieved to note that the notice-me-not charm was working on the other Weasleys, who did not appear to see him, and were talking quietly amongst themselves. "Tired?" Harry asked her.

"Not too bad," Ginny smiled at him. "Besides, I can sleep on the train."

Harry stole a glance at Ron, and was relieved to see he and Hermione were snogging as though glued together. Harry drew Ginny to the side. There, half-hidden from view, he drew out the mirrors he'd bought in Diagon Alley. "Look," he said. "I got this for us... we can use them to talk to each other at night, or whenever you want. It's keyed to you and me. I just couldn't stomach the idea of only having letters..."

"This is perfect," Ginny breathed. There was a gleam in her eye that made Harry swallow. But he could not ask her what the look in her eye was about, for the crowd around them gave a great surge, and the noise increased tenfold. The Express was about to leave, and to his regret, Ginny had to be on it.

"You have to go," he said quietly.

"I have to go," she replied.

They kissed, and then Ginny spun away, ran to her trunk, and levitated it onto the train. She gave her family one last goodbye as Harry watched as he leaned against the pillar. It was a small bereavement, watching her leave.

"Well, mate," Ron clapped him on the back as they watched Hermione and Ginny — who had now found a compartment together — wave to them through an open window.

"Well?" Harry said.

"Why don't we go have an ale, and play some wizard chess?"

* _taken directly from the Pottermore website_


	5. Probation

CHAPTER FIVE

PROBATION

Once the witches went back to Hogwarts, Ron started moving in with Harry, bit by bit. At first it was just little things he bought with the money Harry had given him. Then he and Harry had spent an afternoon transfiguring furniture, and somehow Ron's favorite pieces ended up in the second floor room he and Harry had shared once. Harry was all for it... was ready to just invite Ron to stay and have done with it. But it was easier just to let it happen.

"Transfiguration is a bitch," muttered Ron. He was trying to turn a dusty old tablecloth into a brightly colored comforter.

"Why don't you just buy a new one?" asked Harry.

This led to another afternoon in Diagon Alley, this time buying all sorts of things for the house. Harry felt quite adult as he wandered through Off the Pyre, a furniture store ("Our sales are HOT! HOT! HOT! and just as final!").

"You should definitely get that," Ron snorted, pointing at a garish, throne-like chair with peacock feathers sprouting from the top, like an absurd fan. They then tried to outdo each other, trying to find the most outlandish furniture. Harry was just examining a singing toilet when he saw, tucked in a corner, a tall wardrobe. Something drew him toward it. Perhaps because it was not singing or dancing like anything else. It had a little sign next to it: "FIRE SALE! 1/2 OFF!" and also "for when you have enemies AND style". Harry opened it, and was impressed to see how deep it was. There must be an enchantment on it to make it bigger on the inside, Harry thought. It had all sorts of tiny drawers, nooks, and crannies. There was a spot marked for a foe glass, and another for a sneak-o-scope.

"Look, I'm buying this," Harry told Ron.

But Ron wasn't paying attention to him, was looking across the store to where Narcissa Malfoy stood. Harry came around to stand next to Ron. Draco's mother looked rather less haunted than she had last time Harry'd seen her. When she saw them looking, she jerked her head in a sort of nod, and turned her back.

"I wonder what Malfoy's up to these days," Ron said under his breath.

Harry shook his head. He did not particularly want to talk about the Malfoys, and would prefer to never see them again. Narcissa had saved his life, to be sure, but she and her husband had spent their lives fighting for Voldemort's ideals, and their ultimate decision not to fight was not out of any sense of right or wrong, just that they were not willing to sacrifice Draco to the cause. He'd heard from Ginny they'd left Hogwarts right after he, Ron, and Hermione had gone off to the Headmaster's office, and he'd not been surprised.

"You still gonna get this?" Ron asked. He was perusing the wardrobe quite carefully, looking envious.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Yeah, I am."

They ended up buying several items of furniture, and having it sent back to Grimmauld Place. They wandered Diagon Alley the rest of the day, finished up their shopping for everything on the Auror list, and had giant ice cream sundaes for dinner.

"Are you staying here tonight?" Harry asked casually once they made it back to the house. All the furniture was stacked neatly in the entrance hall, ready to be levitated to their new placement.

"Sure, yeah," said Ron. "I can help put that stuff away..."

It took a couple hours, even with magic, and by the time they were done, Harry was sore and tired. They'd added a few bookcases to the library, figuring Hermione would need them. Harry was adding his Auror books to the shelves, admiring them, when he realized Ron had gone awfully quiet.

"Ron?"

Ron did not reply, only sat there on his knees in front of a cupboard Harry had never noticed before.

"What is it?"

"I... uh, I found a secret cupboard," said Ron.

Harry moved over to him. "What's in it? Is it... dark wizard stuff?"

"Noooo," he said in a thick voice. "It's... uh..."

He shouldered Ron aside, looked in, and sucked in a breath. The inside of the cupboard had had the same kind of charm the wardrobe had, but much more blatantly. It was the size of a small room, and even had a chair. Harry had a good idea what went on in that chair, because the entire rest of the space was filled with moving photographs, portraits, and paintings of such intimate things that it made his ears burn.

Witches and wizards entwined together every which way, all with ecstatic looks on their faces. Harry was particularly caught by a large portrait of two witches in old-fashioned dress rubbing each other's exposed—

"Blimey!" said Ron, awed. "Look at the mermaid!"

Harry looked, and his eyes widened. "Merlin..."

Harry had met mermaids before. They'd been alien in appearance, and rather bloodthirsty. This one was... friendlier... and doing something that made him—

"Blimey!"

Harry gathered up his will, and forced himself to look away. It was getting increasingly uncomfortable to sit on his heels and look at a thousand pictures of other people and creatures having sex without... doing something about it. He stood up and paced away, forcing himself to rank all the Quidditch teams he knew. But once he got to the Holyhead Harpies, he thought of Ginny, and he was totally lost.

"Excuse me," he said in as normal voice as he could, and hurried off to the loo. By the time he came out, the cupboard door was closed, and Ron was gone. He'd left a note on the table: BUSINESS TO TAKE CARE OF, SEE YOU LATER.

Ron came by again the day before they were to start the Auror program. "Sorry I haven't been around," he breezed in, grimacing, "Mum's been clingy, and George is drinking." Harry noted that he had two bottles of firewhiskey and a small, duck shaped bottle of purple gin in his hands.

"Isn't he going back to the store?" Harry asked hesitantly. So far, he and Ron had avoided any discussion about the Weasleys, and what they now thought of Harry; Harry wanted to keep it that way.

"Yeah, he's gone back, but he was drunk both times," Ron flung himself in a chair. "There was a whole mess... Mum and Dad had to put the store back together, and George got a warning from the Diagon Alley Commission that if it happens again, they'll revoke permission to have his store there."

Harry grimaced and shook his head. "That's rough, mate."

Ron eyed him, and drummed his fingers on the table. Harry took out his wand and began fiddling with the wireless. It didn't work too well down in the basement, it kept picking up odd signals, and Harry thought he might have heard a Muggle tune.

"I found some more wards we could put around the place," Ron finally said. "I thought it might be good practice for tomorrow..."

"Oh, good idea," said Harry. He leapt up from the chair. Ever since the four of them had added more protections on the place, Harry had felt more at ease. They were brilliant, really, and Harry leapt at the chance to do more.

Ever since Ginny'd left for Hogwarts, Harry'd been having anxiety dreams that he thought was due to a combination of his best source of calm and comfort being out of range, and the fact the protections on his home still felt too fragile. That first night, he'd made it safe from hexes, from jinxes, and had fixed all the magical locks. But someone determined could still get in, couldn't they? Hermione'd helped with that, by securing all the windows, and guiding Harry into using the Elder Wand to create a protective shield around it. They'd all helped a lot...

"Go grab the Elder Wand," Ron advised. "Remember bombarda, the spell the Death Eaters were using on Hogwarts? This one is salvia bombarda... it's supposed to ward against that..."

Harry did as Ron asked.

Later, once Grimmauld Place was covered, Harry replaced the Elder Wand, returned to the sitting room, and threw himself down on the sofa. "That was pretty advanced magic," said Harry. It had almost been a ritual, he supposed, though he knew very little about them, just that they were meant to be covered in seventh year. It had required them to ward the four corners of the house on every floor, moving clockwise top to bottom, and then repeat everything counterclockwise and from bottom to top.

"Pretty advanced, yeah. Hermione suggested it," said Ron.

Harry nodded.

They stared at each other.

Harry cast out desperately for a change in topic. "How long d'you suppose we'll be on probation? It can't be that long, can it?"

Ron looked startled. "Probation?"

"Probation?" said Harry. "We aren't fully Auror trainees since we haven't got our N.E.W.T.s?"

"We aren't?"

"Didn't your letter...?"

"No?"

Harry pulled out the letter he'd received in the summer. He kept it on him at all times, and the parchment was flat and soft with how many times it had been reread. He read it aloud now to Ron.

His friend's face seemed shadowed. "Mine is the same, except the bit about being on probation," said Ron, handing his letter to Harry, who read it with growing dismay.

He felt a pulse of fear, but squelched it.

"It... must be... they... don't want people to think they're... favoring me," Harry said in a thick voice. It seemed to take a lot of effort to speak. His heart pounded; he could hear it in his ears. For some reason, his adrenaline was kicking in... his stupid instincts were in a panic. SHUT IT, he told himself fiercely.

"Are you sure, Harry?" Ron said quietly.

Harry did not have to clarify the question. He knew Ron was asking if he were sure he didn't want to prove deeper into the subject. And Harry didn't. It was taking all his effort to rein in his clamoring instincts. "Yeah," he said. "I'm sure that's what it must be."

Neither were in the mood for chatting after that; Ron grumped his way to his room, and Harry shlepped up to Sirius's. Once there, he threw himself on the bed, grabbed the mirror from his nightstand, and said "Ginny" into it three times. Harry found himself very grateful for the unobtrusive mirror: he'd not gone a single day without talking to Ginny at least once. It was brilliant. The mirror rippled once or twice, and Harry's reflection disappeared, to be replaced by Ginny's. His spirits lifted immensely.

"Hi!" he said with relief. "How was your day?"

"It was fine," she said, and launched into a tale of how a couple of third years had tried to transfigure a second year into a cat, which segued into a complaint about the Quidditch team ("Merlin, I wish you were here, Harry; I swear, some of these new ones have been hit with Bludgers a few too many times..."), and finished with her saying: "But I've monopolized the whole conversation! And tomorrow is the big day, are you nervous?"

"I... yes," Harry admitted.

"You're going to be fine," she said.

Harry wished she was here with him so fiercely that it felt like a stomach ache.

"What's that look for?" she asked. There was a sly smile on her face that made him want to kiss her.

"Just thinking of how miserable it was without you last year," he said. "Promise me if I ever have to go on the run again, you'll come with me." He tried to make it sound like a joke, but could not quite manage.

"What, you and Ron don't want to be two bachelors smelling up the tent as much as you want?" Ginny teased. She drew back from the mirror until Harry could see her full-length.

"I hope Hermione's not spreading tales," said Harry.

"Nothing that isn't true, I'm sure," said Ginny. "I heard all those mushrooms and canned beans were NOT good for your digestion."

"Hermione was just as bad!"

Ginny smirked. "Oh was she?"

Harry would have argued further, but instead his eyes bulged and nearly swallowed his tongue. He surged forward, pressing his face as close to the glass as he could. Ginny had taken off her robes, and was standing there in her bra and underwear. And then even those were gone, and she was fully revealed to Harry for the very first time.

She was absolutely perfect, he thought. Ginny was slim, almost delicate-looking, though Harry knew how fierce she was. As he watched, she blushed. It spread down her neck and across her chest. Her lovely, lovely chest. Harry memorized it, watching the way it moved as she breathed. And then he looked down, past the gentle curve of her stomach, lingered on her hips, and stopped at the thatch of red curls between her thighs.

All too soon, she chuckled a little, and pulled on her pajamas.

"Ginny, you're killing me," Harry said, beaming at her. "When do I get to see you again?"

"I'll let you know the first Hogsmeade weekend," she said seriously.

After that, they chatted about everything and nothing, until Ginny — heavy-lidded and nearly asleep — insisted he needed to get some rest. As soon as the connection between the two mirrors ended, Harry closed his eyes—

—and didn't open them again until morning, and Ron yelling up the stairs that it was almost time to go. Harry jumped into motion, grabbed clean clothes, brushed his teeth, managed a shave, and ran downstairs carrying his shoes. He shoved a piece of toast in his mouth, and followed Ron into the floo. "MINISTRY OF MAGIC!" he shouted.

And then they were standing at the edge of the long, splendid hall where Harry had witnessed Dumbledore perform magic that had seemed more akin to miracle. There had been some changes, he noted immediately. The peacock blue of the ceiling had been replaced by a bruised purple. It cast odd shadows on the floor. The EMPTY floor, Harry noted. The Magic is Might statue that had stood so intimidatingly was gone. It had not been replaced. Instead, there was a small crater everyone was walking 'round.

Otherwise, the Ministry was just as busy as ever. The floo Harry and Ron had just come out of had already been used again three times. "They took out those awful toilets," Harry said suddenly.

"One of the first things Kingsley did, Dad said," Ron said.

They joined the throng that headed toward the golden gates at the end of the hall. There were whispers and mutters — for the first time since the Ginny's birthday, Harry was out in public without his disguise. One short witch stopped to gape at him and was knocked to the floor. "It's Harry Potter!" he heard whispered again and again. Harry feared the polite smile he forced on his face looked more like a grimace.

They stepped out of the stream of people about halfway, and headed toward the desk marked "SECURITY". A warlock with a full beard down to his stomach and hair that stuck up on top looked up, and made a sound of irritation as he threw aside his copy of the Daily Prophet.

"We're here for the Auror program," said Ron.

"Step over here," he said.

The warlock held up a long, golden rod. Both Harry and Ron, remembering the Probity Probe, winced. "It doesn't hurt," he said with a contemptuous look. "Now your wands."

Harry handed his holly-and-phoenix wand over, feeling a pang. Ron did the same. The warlock disappeared around the curtain for long moments while Harry and Ron alternated between fidgeting and looking professional.

"Here you go," the warlock said, looking disgruntled. He shoved their wands at them.

"Here's your packet," he told Ron, withdrawing a thick folder with the Auror emblem on it. "You're starting in one of the Courtrooms, they have a big presentation. Courtroom Nine, I believe."

He then handed Harry a slip of paper. "That's where you go," he said curtly. Someone had scrawled DEPT OF MAGICAL LAW ENFORCEMENT ROOM 12 on a scrap of paper.

With immense effort, Harry pushed aside his bewilderment, took a name tag that read: HARRY POTTER, PROBATIONARY AUROR TRAINEE. He put it on slowly, deliberately, pretending with all his might that this did not bother him in the slightest. He cut a sideways look at Ron; his read RONALD WEASLEY, AUROR TRAINEE. How often has Ron looked on when you got undeserved recognition, Harry asked himself fiercely. Maybe this is... karmic retribution?

That thought bolstered Harry as he and Ron left the security desk and made it through the golden gates. Despite his misgivings, Harry could not help but feel a surge of excitement. They were here, at the Ministry, ready to start their adult lives. Harry grinned, and did not feel his spirits dim, even when Ron got on a separate elevator, gave Harry a troubled look, and disappeared behind closing doors.

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement had spread out to occupy an entire floor. It hustled and bustled. Harry did not see a single witch or wizard who was not in motion. Everyone was moving, yelling back and forth over cubicle walls, folding paper airplanes, or otherwise hard at work.

"Mr. Potter?"

Harry turned to find a young, serious-looking wizard at his elbow. He was short, a little chubby, and had a gash across his cheek and a sling on his arm.

"Yes?"

"I'm Dean Fawcett. I'm in charge of your... intake interview." The professional facade cracked, and a wide smile broke through. "It is a REAL pleasure to meet you... I can't even tell you."

The Department had gone quiet, and Harry realized everyone was staring. A flush crept up his neck.

Fawcett made a gesture, and Harry followed him past the seemingly frozen witches and wizards. Harry avoided their eyes, and gratefully followed Fawcett into a small room that held only a table and two chairs.

What followed next was a grueling, three hour long session that exhausted Harry more than physical and magical training would have. Fawcett had seemed so kind and genuine when Harry'd met him; that impression still lingered, but he was also thorough, attentive, and relentless. Most of the questions had to do with Voldemort; Voldemort's defeat. They must have circled back to that five different times. Fawcett forced Harry to relive those minutes in the Forest so many times, Harry started to feel a little bit like a bug pinned to the wall.

"I'm sorry about this," Fawcett said, gesturing toward the papers in his hand. "It's the Minister's orders, actually... we were prepared to make you an Auror right off, most of us thought you shouldn't even have to have training."

"I don't — I shouldn't get special treatment," Harry said automatically.

Fawcett leaned back in his chair, an odd gleam in his eye. He appeared to be about to say something, but sighed, and shook his head. "I think I've got all my answers, Mr. Potter—"

"Harry, please. Anyone who knows me this well can call me Harry," Harry said. Fawcett grinned at him.

"Anyway, Harry, I've got all my answers. I'm going to run this up to the Head. I don't think they have anything else planned for you today... you can go ahead and head home."

Harry trudged dutifully back to the Atrium. It was only a little after noon, and he was tired and his head pounded. To his private shame, he was feeling a little shaky, having to relive the battle over and over again. Most of his private thoughts had been on display as Fawcett had drawn it out of him. The only things he's managed to keep back for himself were the Deathly Hallows. No one needed to know that intimate moment between Harry, his parents, and Remus and Sirius. No one needed to know that Harry'd had all three Hallows in his possession nearly at the same time. Especially, no one needed to know he had the Elder Wand.

And no one needed to know that in a fit of annoyance after he'd interceded with Kingsley on behalf of the Malfoys, he'd broken Draco's wand, thinking it would be good for the git to be without for a while.

Harry wrapped his secrets around himself, and left the Ministry.


	6. Whispers Overheard

CHAPTER SIX

WHISPERS OVERHEARD

The next day was slightly different. Harry bypassed the security desk, and presented himself at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "Ah yes," said a harried-looking witch with sharp features and dark red hair. She gave him a curious once-over. "We've not ever had a probationary trainee... they want you to make a potion."

"What potion?" Harry asked, but she'd already left him alone.

Bewildered, he peeked in the room, and found all the supplies he'd need, and a little note that read: make the Extra Wide-Eye potion. He knew the Wide Eye potion from Hogwarts, and set the cauldron to boiling. Harry seemed to recall that the Half Blood Prince had listed several ingredients that could make a potion "extra" than what it was meant to be... pepper, rosehips, and others...

The potion took several hours. He poured it into a bottle, corked it, and sat back, waiting for someone to come check his work.

No one did.

That second day of the probationary Auror program, Harry waited until dusk. He was quite hungry, and when he heard the Magical Maintenance crew arrive, he finally gave up and left for Grimmauld Place, hoping Kreacher might be home to make him a sandwich.

Instead, it was Ron he found puttering around the kitchen, putting away groceries. Dumbfounded, Harry watched his best mate put away what appeared to be a mountain of groceries. A small mound roughly the size of a car of canned goods were put away into open cupboards. A ton of ingredients went into tall cupboards on the left that Sirius had explained had been specially charmed for preservation: flour, powdered milk, salt, vinegar, beans, dried fruit… and more. Harry found himself gaping.

"Oh hey, Harry," Ron finally noticed him.

"Did some shopping?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," said Ron, looking Harry straight in the eye. "Yeah, I went shopping."

The hairs on the back of Harry's neck prickled. He cast about for a change of subject. "How was Auror training?"

Ron shrugged, and gave a little grimace. "It's all right."

"Do we — d'you know anyone there?" Harry asked.

"Not really. Well, Susan Bones."

"Susan Bones?" Harry asked in complete surprise.

"Yeah, same Susan Bones from Hogwarts." There was an odd, cold tone in Ron's voice.

Harry ignored this. "How is she?"

"Fine, I guess," said Ron.

"Ah, good," said Harry. He glanced around the kitchen again. Most of the food had been put away; as he watched, Ron used his wand like a conductor, and the last of it floated over to where it belonged. "Kreacher is going to be happy to see all of this."

Ron nodded.

There were too many unsaid things in the room, and Harry retreated. He needed a distraction, so he headed into the library to choose a book — something dry and dull... something to numb his mind. A part of him wanted to take a peek into that secret cabinet. He even looked over his shoulder to make sure Ron had not followed him. But he did not want that... excitement at the moment. Instead, he let his eyes wander restlessly over book titles, until he casually reached out and snagged Protections of That Most Sacred Place: The Home.

Harry flipped through it. He had to give Hermione credit: the book was very thorough. It delineated the different ways a home could be protected, the exact steps in which to do it, and the pros and cons of each. Harry shifted in the chair. It might be an interesting task to try to make the house Unplottable. Resentment uncurled in his stomach. Making a whole house Unplottable would be a better use of his training time than making an Extra Wideye Potion. Harry forced that thought away.

By the time he'd read a quarter of the book, Harry'd had several good ideas. By day, he would go and do whatever odd little spell or potion they wanted from him, and by night he would conduct his own training by making Grimmauld Place an impenetrable fortress.

But first—

His watch — the watch Mrs. Weasley had given him for his seventeenth birthday — chimed. He glanced down at it — it was nearly nine. Time for his evening chat with Ginny.

Harry took the stairs two at a time, and flung himself into his room.

It had been several days since Ginny'd taken off her robes for him, and Harry was beginning to suspect what she'd require for a repeat. Before their nightly call, Harry stripped off his clothes and looked at himself in the mirror. It's not that he was opposed to her seeing him naked — he had, in fact, hoped it would happen. It was just that he was pretty sure he'd get aroused, and...

Harry threw his robes back on, and gave himself a pep talk. It helped that he was in Sirius's room; Sirius had been forthcoming about sex. Not in any sort of crass way, but in a way Harry thought James might have been like. It was from Sirius that he'd learned there were several ways to prevent conception, and not to try Muggle methods. "Our physiologies are slightly different, so it's better to either perform the charm every time, or make sure one of you is on the potion. You'll learn some of this at Hogwarts, but some of the more practical and easier methods of birth control aren't covered because otherwise, Hogwarts would be teeming with randy teenage witches and wizards with literally nothing stopping them from having sex." About the act itself, Sirius was a bit more evasive: "Just make sure she enjoys it. That's really the most important thing. You'll enjoy it, of course, but witches may take a little more time. Be patient."

Well, when the time came, Harry intended to make sure Ginny enjoyed it. He intended to be patient. But was taking his kit off and showing her his erection in a magic mirror patient?

Witches were lucky, he thought. They kept their arousal more private.

His mirror made a swooshing sound. "...Harry...?"

"Ginny!"

The connection opened.

Harry's mouth was suddenly dry. "Hey, Ginny," he said awkwardly. And then, before he could lose his nerve, he pushed off his robes. His ears felt like they were on fire. She'd given him quite the view the other night, and he did the same, even turning slightly so he could grab the pajama pants he'd thrown on the bed. To his embarrassment, he could feel himself growing, as though a part of him was not at all shy, was instead happy that Ginny was looking at him.

He moved to cover himself up—

"Wait!" Ginny barked.

Harry froze, and looked over at the mirror. Ginny did not notice; she was not looking at his face. Her eyes were gleaming, her cheeks were red, and the tip of her tongue peeked out of her mouth. In less than a second, Harry was fully aroused, and wanting badly to do something about it. Some of his embarrassment had disappeared with her obvious enthusiasm, and he angled his mirror this way and that so she could get a good view.

When he finally reached out again for his pajama bottoms, she let him. When he looked at her, she was smiling at him. "That was brilliant, Harry," she said. "When do I get to see you again?"

He laughed.

In fact, the only times he laughed over the next several weeks was when he was talking to Ginny, seeing Ginny naked, letting her see him. They were getting increasingly daring, Harry thought. He'd taken the mirror into the shower with him a couple of nights, and he'd kept Ginny company during a bath. He'd been in such a heightened state of excitement that it'd been all he could do not to play, especially when she'd washed herself. She'd taken extra time between her legs, Harry'd thought; she was exceedingly good at torturing him.

But other than the evenings they spent talking and torturing one another, the rest of September was boring, frustrating, and — Harry was loath to admit — maddening. Auror Karasu continued to have a very lax hand in his "training". In fact, it was more like testing. An endless, slow-moving test that Harry did not know if he was passing or failing. No one else really spoke to him. Harry had no idea what the real trainees were doing; he did not question Ron, and Ron did not volunteer any tidbits.

In fact, he'd only learned Ron was going away for a two week training mission because he'd accidentally eavesdropped on a private conversation between his two best mates some time in early October.

"But when do you leave?" Hermione's voice was dismayed and rather loud. Harry, who'd been walking down to the kitchen to grab a snack, stopped short.

Harry peered around the corner — was Hermione here? Why hadn't she brought Ginny? But only Hermione's head was at Grimmauld Place, sticking out of the fire. The rest of her must be in the Gryffindor Common Room.

"I can't believe you're leaving. What if—"

"Calm down," scoffed Ron. "I've got it all figured out."

"But what if something happens while you're away? Two weeks is a long time!"

"It's not my choice; I don't want to go on a training mission. I don't even want to be part of the bloody Aurors anymore."

"But we agreed—"

"I know. I know. I'll stay in until all this... you know."

"—it's got to be soon, don't you think?" Hermione said in a hushed voice.

"Dunno," Ron's voice was muffled. He must be eating, Harry thought. "D'you still think—"

"Yes," Hermione said. "Is he still...?"

Harry twitched uncomfortably.

"He's just Harry," said Ron. His voice sounded a little sad.

At that, Harry turned on his heel, and walked away. He did not need to be listening in on his two best friends... especially if they were talking about him. It was a gross invasion of their privacy...

Ron had left in the next few days, and a particularly forbidding silence fell over Grimmauld Place. One day, a week later, Harry Apparated to the front stoop, and found the door slightly ajar. Dread swooped in his stomach, and Harry drew his wand.

He nudged the door open. It was dark and silent... a weighted silence that pressed down on Harry's shoulders. "Homenum revelio," he mouthed.

No one was there.

Feeling more confident, Harry hurried through the house. Something felt different. Something felt off. But Harry could not pinpoint exactly what it was. An idea struck him, and he cast the charm that would alert him to any curses. Nothing flared. He hurried along to his trunk, grabbed the Elder Wand, and performed the same spell. Still nothing. His insides were still twisting, but the dread was slowly fading to be replaced by something worse—

Harry stomped a nascent idea before it could fully form. Then he went to sit in the library, and study his book again. This time not only did he take note of some of the ideas, he actually did them. Harry painstakingly made Grimmauld Place Unplottable. In fact, he did not know if that particular charm HAD been taken off, but by his calculations, it could not hurt to renew it, especially with the Elder Wand. With a pang of regret, he took his fireplace off the floo network. And in the heart of the house, as the book advised, Harry created a spot where he and the others could Apparate in and out of, instead of using the stoop.

It had been his first ritual, and Harry was quite proud of how it had turned out.

"Kreacher!" He called.

Kreacher appeared out of nowhere, as he always did.

"I need someone here while I check something," Harry told him. Then he tested out his own design, Apparating in and out of it, testing its boundaries, and patting himself on the back for what had actually been a tricky bit of magic. First, he'd had to create an anti-Apparition field, and then he'd had to cut out a patch. It had been one of the most advanced charms Harry'd ever accomplished.

He and the elf had a butterbeer together to celebrate.

Whenever he finished whatever small test the Ministry had for him, he hurried home to continue his research. He even channeled Hermione one night, pored over a catalogue of books, and ordered everything related to protective charms and Dementors that he could find.

That night he admitted to Ginny, "I think I'm losing it." He meant it to sound like a joke. Instead, his voice cracked.

She was looking at him very seriously, very fiercely. "You aren't losing it," she said sharply.

He eyed her. They had one of their moments of accord, where he knew she knew exactly what was in his head, and he knew what was in hers. "Gods, Ginny," he said, rubbing his aching eyes. "Where would I be without you?"

"Where would  _I_  be without  _you_?" she asked quietly.

It was several days later that Harry came to his probationary training, and found nothing left out for him to do. Every day the last six weeks, a notecard had been left out explaining what he needed to do: a complicated potion, a charm, or a transfiguration. This time, nothing. Harry waited around for a bit, then went to see if perhaps Auror Karasu had forgotten. He spied her red head a few cubicles away, and went over to her.

"Sorry, Harry Potter," she said. Harry had noticed she called everyone by their first and last names. "I didn't get an assignment for you."

Harry found himself strangely off-put. True, some of the tests had been simplistic, but at least it had given him something to do. What did it mean, now, that he did not have anything to do today? Was he out of the program? Had they simply forgotten? Or (and it seemed optimistic to the point of foolishness to even form the thought) had they decided he no longer needed to be tested, and was to be placed with the other Auror trainees?

So lost in thought was he that he had wandered down the corridor toward Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office. Mr. Weasley had worked here once, with his assistant... Perkins, Harry thought it was. He'd come to work with Mr. Weasley one day a few years ago, before his trial had begun. It was vivid in his mind: Mr. Weasley's glee at the non-functioning escalators, his kindness that had penetrated Harry's fear that he would be expelled from Hogwarts.

It was not until he placed his hand on the closed door that Harry heard the muffled voices.

"—honestly surprised he hasn't kicked up a complaint, Kingsley," said Mr. Weasley. "It isn't like him. Has a real sense of his own entitlement, always has."

"I know," said Kingsley. "He's being watched every moment his is in that room. He sits, does his work, and leaves."

Harry's stomach dropped. Without even thinking about it, he snapped up his wand, and cast a Disillusionment Charm, pressed his ear to the door, and wished desperately for some Extendable Ears.

"I couldn't find anything at Grimmauld when I searched," Mr. Weasley was saying. "The wand was nowhere... I fear it has been destroyed."

"Damn it, Arthur," Kingsley said tiredly. "How long must we maintain the ruse? Everyone thinks he's a hero! Do you know Karasu actually argued with me over his assignments? They weren't THERE. They weren't at the battle. They don't KNOW."

"We'll find it. We're already listening to him at Grimmauld... we can only hope he will brag to Ron one of these nights, and we will overhear it..."

"When he initially arrived for training, he brought his old wand, the one we have on file for him. But damn it, it's all I can do to keep him out of Auror training. Some of the younger Aurors are ready to promote him and have done with it." This fact had Kingsley very angry. "Damned if I wish we could find the wand he stole from Draco Malfoy. That wand… we need that wand."

"We'll keep at this, Kingsley," said Mr. Weasley, conviction in his tone. "We took down Voldemort. If Harry Potter needs to be taken down as well..."

Harry snapped to attention at that. His heart thumped madly in his chest, his stomach churned, and a cold sweat broke over his brow. The corridor suddenly seemed darker, and Harry moved away from the office door, moving blindly.

This was about Draco's wand? What was he meant to have done?

He focused on breathing as he returned to the Atrium. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. He nodded at people when they called out to him. It was as though someone else were talking for him, responding to greetings, all the while Harry pulled himself together.

Whatever it was he was meant to have done, he'd be found innocent, he was sure of it. Harry'd destroyed Draco's wand — snapped it cleanly in half — two days after Voldemort had been defeated. He'd never told anyone, not even Ginny. It had been a petty gesture, made in private, right after he'd spoken to Kingsley about their involvement. It had looked as though the Malfoys would escape prosecution once again, partly because of Harry, and he'd needed something physical to do with that irritation.

Instead of going straight home, he headed for Diagon Alley, and picked up his order from Flourish and Blotts. He sent it to Grimmauld Place, steeled himself, and headed toward Knockturn Alley to do something there he had never done before: to shop.

It was there he found books and books that would surely have been located in the Restricted Section at the Hogwarts library. He bought everything he could on curses, dark creatures, dark rituals... everything. He spent money urgently and swiftly, sending everything home, before he finally went himself, Apparating into the safe pocket he had left for himself. Packages floated nearly to the ceiling, and Harry gestured them toward the door and toward the library. He did not bother sorting, instead placed them on the shelves as they came out of their cartons.

Then, remembering something else, he ran up to grab the Elder Wand, and started casting Muffliato in every room in the house. Let them try listening in now, Harry thought grimly. Then he sat down, put his head in his hands, and focused on not thinking.

A week before Halloween, Harry was tossing and turning, moving from one anxious dream to the next, when a silvery light filled Sirius's room. Harry cracked his eyes open to find a Jack Russell terrier sitting on its haunches and looking at him with what could only be reproach. "What the hell, Harry?" it said with Ron's voice.

Harry tried to get his brain moving, but for long moments, all he could do was stare at the patronus.

"Are you going to let me in?"

"Oh, damn!" Harry leapt out of bed, and thundered all the way to the front door. Ron stood there in the pouring rain, using his wand to create a sort of umbrella, but still getting wet. Harry stepped aside and gestured him in.

"I added more charms," Harry said unnecessarily. He followed Ron as he made his way to the storage area opposite the kitchen.

"Good," said Ron. "I got some more stuff for the place." And, one by one, he took about a hundred packages out of his pocket. Harry's eyes widened as Ron revealed their contents: Skele-Knit, Skele-Gro, endless bottles of dittany, all sorts of corked potions that had different properties, like fever reduction, and likewise.

"Ron," he said, a sudden thought occurring to him. "Don't you think it would be fun to try to see if we could cast the Fidelius Charm on this old place?"

Ron looked over at him. He was still wet from the rain, and his face was tight with exhaustion. He looked as though he needed about a week of sleep. Still: "Yeah!" he said enthusiastically. "That does sound fun; let's do it as soon as I get this finished."

"I'll help," Harry said quietly.

Ron gave him a fleeting smile and nodded.

Then: "Is there something you aren't telling me?" Harry teased, waving a box of witch hygiene products.

"Ha ha," said Ron. "They're for Hermione and Ginny, you git."

Harry admittedly did not know very much about witch things, but as he put the seventeenth box of 96 tampons away, he thought maybe Ron had bought enough for Hermione, Ginny, and a small army of other witches, all having their periods at the same moment. He levitated the last couple of boxes, and sent them zooming toward the bathrooms.

"I've been reading about the Fidelius," said Harry. "And it really is the best protection. But just for fun, I added all the old protections the Order used to have: Unplottable, Untraceable... and I also made it impossible to Apparate anywhere on the property except for right in the library — here, I'll show you."

Despite the fact it was three in the morning, Harry felt energized. Ron followed him to the library, and stood there, gaping.

"I went and bought a bunch of books," said Harry. Every shelf had been filled, and he'd had to buy several more bookcases.

"Hermione'll like that."

Harry indicated a spot on the floor. There were still faint chalk marks where Harry had marked the parameters. "This is where we'll Apparate in and out. The book called it the 'heart of the house'..."

"Makes sense. Is this where you want to do the Fidelius?"

Harry nodded. He'd memorized the charm weeks ago, but he still opened his book up to the correct page and perused it. "Oh, damn," he said suddenly. "I forgot the Elder Wand." Instead of running up to get it, he said: "Accio Elder Wand."

A moment later it was zooming toward him. Harry caught it. "I always use the Elder Wand for the protective charms," he explained.

"Good idea," Ron said.

"So... you kneel there," Harry pointed to the center of the room. When Ron knelt, Harry bent down and copied three runes down: one right before him, one at his left foot, and one at his right. "I kneel here." He knelt. "Here... we clasp forearms..."

With his wand, Harry wrote: #12 Grimmauld Place, Sirius's House in large, glowing letters in the air. "That was the easy part," he said, rubbing his sweaty palms on his pajama bottoms. "Now... brace yourself..."

Harry pointed his wand to a spot on his body, right below his sternum. He whispered an incantation, and moved his wand as though pulling a string out of his body. Looking down, he was pleased to see a brilliant band of bluish-white light coming from the spot, exactly as the book had described. Harry directed this light toward the words he'd written in air until it covered them, filled them, made them more brilliant. "Look, now it's a secret," said Harry.

He and Ron both looked up at it.

"You have to say it, exactly as I've written it, three times," Harry told him. "Once you do it the first time, it'll start moving into you... say it again when — the book says you'll feel some sort of burning, that's when you say it. And the third time at the end."

Harry felt invigorated. "I've designated Ron as my secret-keeper," he said. "I charge him with keeping #12 Grimmauld Place, Sirius's House, safe and secret." The words spun in mid-air, so bright and brilliant, they looked like fireworks. They drifted almost casually over to Ron.

The second they entered Ron's body, the runes Harry had written made a loud pop and burst forth with light. "#12 Grimmauld Place, Sirius's House," Ron said firmly.

Harry watched with great interest as the words seeped into Ron's skin. He could still read them. They shone.

Ron made a muffled sound of pain. "#12 Grimmauld Place, Sirius's House."

Ron's whole body was aglow. The room was filled with light. It was as though the shining words Harry had created were etching themselves into his bones and sinews, his heart and hands. They seemed to pulsate and grow ever more vibrant. Harry watched in awe.

Then it started to fade.

The whole house began to fade, Harry realized with alarm. Everything was becoming ghostly and insubstantial. Darkness fell. Where was he? Harry thought, feeling panic rise.

"#12 Grimmauld Place, Sirius's House," Ron said for the last time.

Everything came back into focus with a suddenness that was dizzying. Harry realized that for a moment, he'd not known his own secret. He'd nearly been locked out of his own house.

"Well," said Ron, rubbing his arm gingerly. "That WAS fun."


	7. The Minister Makes a Decision

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE MINISTER MAKES A DECISION

The Friday before Halloween, Harry was particularly excited. The next day was the first Hogsmeade weekend; the Hogwarts students would be allowed out of the castle, and Harry could not wait to see Ginny.

"Tomorrow!" she crowed through the mirror.

Harry had a ton of wild ideas for the day. Part of him wanted to squire her around to all of their favorite places. Another part — the larger part, the part that was pointing up toward the ceiling even now — wanted to reserve a room somewhere in the village and... do whatever they were comfortable with doing. He looked at her, and figured it might be quite a lot.

Ginny had bewitched her mirror so that it hung above her. She was topless, and only wore underpants. Harry twitched. He wore as much as she did, but he was... rather more exposed.

Her fingertips rested on her flat belly, rubbing idly. Harry twitched again, and felt himself swelling. Her fingers made a convulsive gesture. Harry reached down and adjusted himself, unable to keep from stroking it.

He heard her suck in a breath—

And then her fingers moved to rub herself over her striped underwear.

Heat spread over his entire body. He'd had an inkling it might come to this — had fantasized about it, had looked forward to it with both excitement and nervousness. Harry squeezed his eyes shut for a moment; then gripped it, and stroked the tip of it with his thumb.

He cracked his eyes open. Her face was flushed a bright red.

"God, Harry," she said in a choked voice.

She was using three of her fingers, Harry noted with avid interest, rubbing them around one certain spot. He found his own rhythm, the one he'd used for years. But he was frustrated by the constriction around his hand, and without giving himself enough time to change his mind, Harry shoved his boxers down around his hips, bringing himself out into full view.

Harry thought she might've started rubbing faster.

For a minute he just watched her. He watched her legs move restlessly, watched her hips swivel; then he watched as she impatiently moved her hand into her underwear.

"God, Ginny," said Harry.

His nervousness evaporated, and he began to play in earnest as he watched her fingers work. It was highly erotic, seeing Ginny's hand moving inside her underwear... faster, and faster. Unconsciously, Harry moved to her rhythm. Neither of them said anything further, except a few incoherent mutters, and suddenly Harry was close—

—and then he came.

She swore. A minute later, he watched as her whole body tightened, and she rolled to clench around her hand, hiding her face in the pillow as she — Harry felt quite sure — came.

"So," said Harry. "Now you know what I do when we're done talking for the night."

Ginny gave him a cheeky grin. "You know, somehow I suspected that was what happened." Her smile faded a little, to be replaced by something softer. "I wish you were here."

"Me too," Harry said, deciding his idea of getting a room was a rather excellent one. "Tomorrow." He promised.

"Tomorrow," Ginny said.

And so Harry was relatively buoyant as he and Ron left the house. Harry'd Woden new robes — he'd tucked his Cloak inside them just in case he and Ginny needed it — and attempted to flatten his hair. They'd left early by unspoken agreement. Harry had not discussed his plans to whisk Ginny away to somewhere more private, but he assumed Ron would do the same with Hermione.

"So," said Harry in a casual tone, after they'd Apparated to Hogsmeade, "what do you think you and Hermione will be up to today?"

Ron gave him a sideways look. "What d'you think we'll be up to?"

Harry smirked at him and they shared a laugh.

"We haven't done... that," said Ron. "But we were going to try to find some privacy for..."

"Groping?" Harry supplied.

"Well... yeah," Ron admitted. His ears turned bright red. "We were thinking... I was thinking we'd look and see if Aberforth has any rooms available—"

"Not the Hog's Head!" Harry said in dismay. His one grand plan, and Ron had to steal it?

"Why?" Ron said dumbfounded. "Think it's unsanitary?"

"Yes," Harry said quickly. "Very unsanitary! Hermione would hate it, you know she would."

Ron's face fell in disappointment. "I guess you're right."

"Cheer up, mate," Harry clapped him on the back. "You'll find something to do."

Ron stumped off, muttering about the Three Broomsticks, and Harry let him go. Once his friend was around the corner of a building and out of sight, he doubled back and sprinted toward the Hog's Head, going the back way.

Harry snuck into the old bar, feeling slightly guilty for having tricked Ron. It was empty, of course, except for Aberforth sitting on a stool behind the bar, wiping down pint glasses. He approached with caution.

"I wondered when I would see you, Harry Potter," said Aberforth. To Harry's instant relief, Aberforth did not seem at all... different.

"Er, sorry I haven't been around," said Harry.

Aberforth gave him a piercing, urgent look. "I expected to see you long before this; surely you've noticed something is—"

"YOU ABSOLUTE BLIGHTER!"

Harry flinched at Ron's outraged bellow, and ducked when a jinx came at him. It hit the wall behind Aberforth, and showered him with harmless sparks.

"That the best you got?" Harry taunted. He flicked his wand, and Ron's legs began dancing of their own accord.

Aberforth's Shield Charm erupted between them, and when he pointed his wand at Ron, his hand shook with fury. "You. Out of my bar. You do NOT attack Harry Potter in my bar."

Both Harry and Ron gaped at him. "No, listen," said Harry, "he's my best mate. He just... thinks I've done something."

Ron gave a great snort. "You made me think I shouldn't bring Hermione here. You just wanted it for yourself!"

"I'm an absolute blighter," Harry said. And then they were laughing as though they had just gone around Grimmauld Place and filled it with Cheering Charms. Aberforth was looking between them with a grimace of disbelief.

"So young," he muttered.

"Hey, we're not young, we're of age," said Ron. "Speaking of... have you got any rooms available today?"

Aberforth shook his finger at him. "It's Hogsmeade weekend, the students started owling me, booking rooms as soon as they got the dates. You have to wake up earlier than that to beat a horde of randy students."

Harry's shoulders slumped.

"Besides, the two of you have much larger concerns as I... really thought you both ought to know by now." Aberforth peered at them, then his eyes swept over the empty room.

Harry and Ron exchanged a fleeting, wary glance.

"Come upstairs," Aberforth ordered abruptly. Harry followed him dutifully, ducking under the low doorframe. The stairs creaked mightily, and it smelled of dust and firewhiskey. It was better in the little upstairs room Harry remembered from several months previously. The window was cracked open, fresh air dispelled the smell of a musty old bar.

"Sit, both of you," Aberforth gestured. "Now, have you two figured out what's going on up at Hogwarts?"

"Up at Hogwarts?" Harry asked blankly.

"The ghosts missing, the old poltergeist out of his mind... the astronomy tower half-broken, and unfixed... and Hagrid says there are places in the forest he's afraid to go. Not like him, that. He'd been in and out of that forest since he was eleven."

"I... haven't really... been paying much attention to what's going on at Hogwarts," said Harry. He did not speak to anyone at the school aside from Ginny — and Hermione, but he mostly heard from her through Ron.

"Hermione's been researching what could have done it to Peeves, but isn't coming up with anything," said Ron.

Aberforth looked very troubled.

"Feels like there's more trouble coming," he said. As he spoke, a chill wind blew through the room.

Neither Harry nor Ron said anything.

It was at that moment a tiny mouse patronus appeared in front of Ron, and said in a squeaky voice: "Auror Trainees are to report to Hogsmeade. Prepare to face Dementors. Auror Trainees are to report to Hogsmeade."

Harry's stomach fell.

"Ginny," he breathed.

Harry ignored the fact that he was not a true trainee, and was surely not invited to participate in the training activity. When Ron left to meet the other Aurors, Harry hurried after him. "Sorry we couldn't stay, Aberforth," said Harry. "If you hear anything more — if anything else happens — send me an owl."

Aberforth grunted a goodbye.

The Aurors had gathered at the edge of Hogsmeade where the lane to Hogwarts began. Trepidation filled Harry; he did not like the idea of Dementors anywhere near Ginny.

The Auror trainees noticed Harry, and began to whisper and point. Harry thought they might need a class on subtlety, for they made no effort to conceal the fact they were quite blatantly discussing him. Harry wished he'd done his notice-me-not charm. Of all the times to forget...

He noticed Susan Bones make a pained grimace when she saw him and turn away. His first instinct had been to go over and say hello, but he squashed it.

More and more wizards arrived. Even Kingsley Apparated in to stand with the Head of the Auror Department and one of the Deputy Heads of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. They spoke together swiftly and rapidly; Harry strained to listen.

"As everyone knows, we have lately started discovering pockets of Dementors in various places around the country, seeking into the landscape... staking their territory, essentially. Professor Rubeus Hagrid discovered one this morning located in the Forbidden Forest. Now, we have yet to perfect our method of retaking the land, but we have been able to contain them, so to speak." This was from the Deputy, a plain, no-nonsense looking witch who reminded him of Professor McGonagall.

"We're going to continue to work on a solution," Kingsley said in his slow, even voice. "But for now, we will work to contain them for the safety of the students and the residents of Hogsmeade."

"Trainees pair up, an Auror will come and explain how you will be helping," said Robards, the head of the Auror Department.

Harry stood there next to Ron, feeling slightly awkward, but trying not to be noticed. It did not work. As soon as the Auror trainees began to break away, Kingsley headed toward him.

"Potter. What are you doing here?"

"I, erm, was with Ron when—"

"You are a probationary trainee, and therefore unneeded here." There was a hard, heated tone in Kingsley's voice that Harry did not like.

"But, Kingsley, I—"

"I am the Minister of Magic. Do not mistake me for your school boy friend."

Harry stared at him. They HAD been friends. They'd been comrades. They'd fought on the same side; Kingsley had protected Harry when he had needed it. Had it been a lie?

"Minister, then, I can help," Harry said. A hint of a plea crept into his words: "I want to help."

"We don't need you," said Kingsley. He turned to Ron. "Weasley, pair up with someone."

Harry would not permit himself to endure any more public embarrassment, so he turned on his heel and walked away. Today was meant to have been a lovely day. Would the students even be allowed out? A part of him hoped not, but most of him just needed Ginny. He found himself at the Three Broomsticks; it was empty, but he could tell it was being prepared for an influx of students. Servers bustled, and the air was redolent with spellwork.

He fidgeted. His instincts told him something was wrong. He needed to see for himself that the charm against the dementors would work. Barely twenty minutes after he sat down, he abruptly stood up. He could not just sit here when a swarm of Dementors could overtake Hogwarts. He would worry about Kingsley later.

Cursing himself for somehow not knowing to bring his broom, Harry hurried up the lane. A flare of red light rose from the forest, and Harry angled toward it, and plunged into the gloom.

A low roll of thunder was the only warning Harry got before the heavens opened, and rain fell. He was soaked in seconds, and the closer he got to the dementors, the colder he got. Their presence felt like a dread wind, blowing across his skin. Harry could sense them in their knot, not too far ahead. "Lumos," he whispered. And: "Protego." A shield blossomed out of his wand, he directed it to hover over his head, blocking the rain.

Harry trudged on through the unnatural gloom. It was quiet in the forest. Much too quiet. The only thing he could hear was the shush of rain on leaves. As he traveled further in, it grew quieter, darker.

How had the Aurors got so far ahead of him?

A branch snapped, and the hair on the back of his neck tingled. He adjusted the grip on his wand. Unease settled in his stomach.

The wind made a moaning sound. Harry paused, peering into the gloom, looking deeper into the wood. The rain had stopped. His heart beating uncommonly fast, Harry hurried forward as fast as the forest would allow.

Someone is here, his instincts warned him. Someone is following you.

Harry considered taking out his Cloak, but decided against it: the ground was much too uneven.

He wiped his sweaty hands on his robes.

Someone is stalking you.

A witch cackled.

Harry nearly tripped over a thick root, and caught himself just in time, scraping skin off the palm of his hand. It bled freely, but Harry ignored this. He turned around in place, heart thumping, looking for the source of that cackle—

A curse hit the tree behind him, lighting it on fire. Harry dove to the side, and yelled: "Reducto!" toward the source of the curse. A witch screamed in rage.

With hands that shook, Harry pulled his Cloak out of his robes and swung it over his body. As silently as he could, he crept forward, needing to know who exactly it was attacking him... it did not sound like anyone he knew...

Harry searched for long minutes, but whoever it was had disappeared — had possibly used their own invisibility cloak, or had drifted silently into the trees. Confusion and anger and dread battled within him. Someone just tried to kill him, probably followed him from Hogsmeade, stalked him through the Forbidden Forest, and just disappeared?

Slowly, Harry forced himself to come to terms with the fact he was not going to find answers unless he searched the entire forest. Shoulders tight, mind still a whirl, Harry trudged onward. The sense of being watched had disappeared: of course it had. His Cloak was still on, and Harry had no intention of taking it off.

It was mere minutes before Harry heard distant shouts, and he hurried onward, his Cloak fisted in his hand to keep himself from tripping again. It was freezing now. The moisture in the air froze, and Harry's breath came out like vapor. He heard Ron cry out at someone in warning, and he pushed himself to move faster...

Something was wrong. He knew it the moment before he stepped over one last giant tree root and saw that the Dementors were fighting for their right to expand their territory. It was a whole block of them moved in unison, as though there were one giant Dementor. Dread swamped him as he looked on in horror. As he watched, six of them broke away to push back against a line of patronuses. Harry edged around the back, moving closer to the Aurors—

—and stopped short.

Kingsley had just shouted the incantation, and a patronus such that Harry had never seen before erupted out of his wand. Instead of glowing and silver and beautiful, there were shadows crawling over it: bruised purple patches, ugly and somehow terrible to look at. Harry stared at it. And the lynx, as though sensing Harry despite his Cloak, looked straight at him and snarled. Then, ignoring the dementors entirely, it began to stalk Harry.

The dementors, however, erupted into a frenzy when they saw the shadowed patronus; they converged upon it as though Kingsley's patronus were summoning them rather than dispelling them. Harry watched in horror as the dementors swarmed Kingsley. Shaking off the fright, Harry ran toward him.

"NO!" people were shouting.

"Minister!"

"KINGSLEY!" from Ron.

It was mayhem.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Harry shouted as he ran, and his magnificent glowing stag came to his aid. At this, the dementors balked, amassing again in the center.

His heart nearly failed when he saw Kingsley on his back, bent at an odd angle. The shadowy lynx had disappeared, and a Dementor leaned over him, lifting his hood...

"Oh God, no," Kingsley was sobbing. "God no. Not Harry. Why Harry?"

The stag galloped into the Dementor, shattering it apart into malevolent black wisps.

"Minister!" Harry knelt at his side, pulling off his Cloak. His wand was out, and his stag continued to pace in front of them, keeping the dementors at bay. Harry could feel them, though. He could feel the coldness in the earth.

For a moment, Harry feared the worst had happened. Kingsley's face was so still, and he did not appear to breathe.

"Is he all right?" Ron asked, his face drained of color. His terrier patronus joined Harry's stag to protect them.

Harry shook his head. "I don't know."

Kingsley took in a deep breath. His eyes opened. They were clear for a breath or two, then they narrowed. It must have been a trick of the light coming from the patronuses all around, reflecting off the trees, but Harry thought he saw a fey green light in their depths.

"Potter," he said. He jerked himself away and sat up. "You directly disobeyed my orders. I told you you were not to join us, did I not?"

"I—yes, but—"

"You're out of the program," said the Minister.

Harry's brows slammed down. "What?" he said sharply.

"You disobeyed my orders. You disobeyed me, the Minister of Magic. You are no longer part of the Auror training program. Effective immediately."


	8. The Cruciatus Rebounds

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE CRUCIATUS REBOUNDS

Everyone was staring at Harry, slack-jawed. The dementors were held at bay, and it was the human drama unfolding before their eyes that captured their attention. Harry's face burned, and to his immense horror, tears stung at the back of his eyes. There was nothing in Kingsley's face to suggest he had once liked him.

"All... right," said Harry. His voice was raspy. "I'll just... go."

He did not recall his patronus to his wand. He left it there with the others, circling the dementors and pushing them back. Nor did he leave completely, but climbed into the branches of a tree to keep his eye on what was going on. Things had calmed. The dementors were no longer united in their fury — the sheer number of patronuses had surely broken it. Instead, they flew back and forth as though pacing. Their rage at this was so palpable that Harry could feel it. Yet they stayed in one spot. The Aurors created shining globes of light that the dementors shied away from, and placed them all around like a dome. They seemed unable to leave.

At that, Harry slid out of the tree, and headed back out of the forest. He had seen enough to know that the dementors would be held at bay, and he did not want to see Kingsley again.

The road to Hogsmeade was empty, totally devoid of students, and Harry's spirits fell even further. No doubt the students were no longer allowed out of the castle. He should have thought of that sooner, but the desire to see Ginny — the need to see Ginny — had overshadowed his thinking. He was halfway down the lane to Hogsmeade before he realized he could Apparate home... there was no need to linger.

Harry slumped with relief when he arrived at Grimmauld Place. The peace and safety of Sirius's family home was alluring. No one could get in unless Ron let them, and Ron never would...

The next few hours, Harry tried everything to distract himself: he showered, he read about Dementors, he paced the library floor like a caged tiger, he lay face down on the floor trying to decide who it was trying to kill him. Finally, when he thought he had a better handle on his own emotions, he tromped up the stairs, grabbed the mirror, and tried to contact Ginny.

Nothing.

He tried again.

Nothing.

After the third time, Harry gave up, pocketed his mirror, and headed back downstairs. He was on the staircase between the second and third floors when he heard a loud CRACK! and Ron saying, "—he's made it so we can ONLY Apparate in here. Right here, on this spot."

Harry tripped down the last few stairs, falling forward onto his knees on the landing. His already hurt hand stung even more.

"Smart of him," said Hermione.

"Ugh, Ron, you could have warned us — I hate Apparating without preparing myself," said Ginny.

Well, Harry amended his earlier thought, Ron would not let just ANYONE in. He took the stairs three at a time.

"Ginny!"

Ginny threw herself at him, and then she was in his arms. He was holding her, and all the unease he'd been feeling all day faded away...

All too soon, she pulled back.

Harry sighed, wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and together they went into the library. Ron was leaning against the desk, arms wrapped around Hermione, who was staring avidly at all the books on the shelves. "Where did all these come from?" she asked.

"I bought them," Harry admitted. "I went on a bit of a spree." Then he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and said: "I was hoping there would be something in there that could help us figure out what's going on."

The silence snapped.

"It's bad, isn't it," Ginny said quietly. "Whatever it is, it's bad?"

"Yeah," said Ron. He looked directly at Harry. "It's even worse than we thought, isn't it?"

Harry sank down on the sofa, bringing Ginny with him. Sitting here, in the comfort and safety of his home, it did not feel quite as bad as it did earlier that day in the darkness and the cold of the forest. He felt an uneasy pang at the memory.

"It's pretty bad," Harry agreed quietly.

"Ron, you said something about Kingsley's patronus?" Ginny asked.

"It wasn't the right color," Ron said promptly. "It was sort of... purple-y. And it looked mean, like it wanted to bite Harry." There was frustration writ on Ron's face, and Harry understood. The sense of wrongness about that patronus could not be adequately described.

Harry said as much.

"Harry, I'm glad you're talking about this," Hermione said tentatively.

"Well, I held out as long as I could," Harry said in a feeble attempt at a joke. "I just... didn't want to believe it isn't over. That I can't just... go on with my life."

"You're tired," Ginny said gently.

"I'm tired," Harry agreed. "As I'm sure all of you are. But," he said more forcefully, "it's time to stop ignoring it." And then, as though a floodgate opened inside him, words began pouring out. He told them how he'd felt last summer, thinking the Weasleys were taking out their grief just on him — "which was fine, I understood" — but how it started to feel more targeted. "And then I was on probation, which is fine, people shouldn't just HAND me things."

"But I wasn't," said Ron.

"They singled you out," Hermione supplied.

"Bloody gits," said Ginny.

"Ron and I noticed something was... off pretty much as soon as we returned from Australia," said Hermione. It was her turn to speak, and Harry winced as he heard things about the Weasleys he had been blissfully unaware of. Things his girlfriend and friends had kept from him, like when the Weasleys had refused to host a birthday celebration for him, which was why they'd all gone to Grimmauld Place... "I'm sorry, Harry, we aren't trying to hurt your feelings."

"Yeah, mate," Ron said.

"Do you think it's... real?" Harry asked gingerly.

"I don't know what you could possibly have done to turn Mum and Dad against you," said Ginny. "It doesn't make sense. None of this makes sense."

"But I can't find a single spell that could be this long-lasting and this pervasive," said Hermione. She spread her hands in a helpless gesture. "I've been looking — that's basically what I've been doing up at Hogwarts—"

"—since the education provided has gone way downhill, yeah," Ginny finished for her. When Harry looked at her, she grimaced. "It's been... a little better than last year."

"But some of the teachers are increasingly more likely to have us 'researching' what Harry could have done to have survived..." Hermione said. "We're supposed to have started on rituals in Transfiguration and Charms, but nothing."

"And Defense is a waste of a year again," said Ginny. "We don't even HAVE a traditional professor. They just bring in Bill or Fleur or Neville, and they just... make us relive the battle. Over and over again, and every time, they make you sound worse."

Harry was gaping at them.

"And that's not even the worst of it," said Hermione.

"It's Peeves," said Ginny. "He's gone and — he is not the same Peeves. He isn't funny, he's dark and disturbing. He came into Defense when Bill was there last week..."

"He spoke to him in this... this voice," Hermione said.

"'You're going to die. Your pretty wife is going to die,' and he laughed. It was one of the creepiest things I've ever heard. Eloise Midgen wet her pants," said Ginny.

"I might have done if I hadn't just had a pee," Hermione put in.

Harry was struggling to imagine a world in which Peeves could make Hermione Granger wet herself in fright. Peeves was a buffoon, a spirit of mischief, not a spirit of fear. It was as discomfiting to imagine Peeves as terrifying as it was to imagine the Weasleys unloving.

Or a patronus as somehow corrupted.

"I think it's got to be something magical... a curse or something," said Ron. "Look at Kingsley's patronus. That wasn't natural. That felt like... thirteen o'clock."

"If I had just seen it..." began Hermione.

Just then, a diversion in the form of an owl materialized at the window. It tapped politely on the glass. Ron reached over and opened it. "It's addressed to me," he said, surprised. "It's from Lee Jordan." He opened it and read it, eyes widening steadily. "Harry? Have we got a wireless here? Lee's about to have another episode of Potterwatch."

Harry and the others scrambled to find a wireless. "Did we throw it out? Wasn't there a doxy-infested wireless?" asked Ginny. Finally, Harry found an old one up in Regulus's room and brought it back down to the library. "Found one," he said, a little breathlessly. He was not the only one; they'd each found one, and they piled them up on the giant elderwood desk in the center of the room.

"Yours looks the newest," Ron said dubiously.

Harry turned the dial, and heard static. Ron tapped out a rhythm on his wand.

"—hope you lot have had an uneventful few seasons since the last we spoke," said Lee Jordan. "Considering that was less than an hour after You-Know-Who went You-Know-Where, I expect I'm right. But WHY am I reviving Potterwatch again? Because — and I can't even believe I'm saying this — Potter is STILL being mistreated by the Ministry. I have it on good authority that not only was he not allowed into the official Auror training program—"

"He was put on probation, Lee Jordan," said a voice Harry thought he recognized, but could not quite place.

"Too right, Daisy," said Lee.

That jogged his memory: this was Tulip Karasu, the Auror who had been his go-between once or twice a week.

"And not only was he put on probation, but he was kicked out altogether today," Tulip continued. Then she went on to explain what happened, neatly and concisely, as though offering a report. Harry's ears burned.

"That's Tulip Karasu," said Harry. "She's—"

"One of Bill's oldest friends, and an Auror," said Ginny. "You know her?"

"She was one of the Aurors handling my probation," said Harry.

"She used to come around the Burrow a lot with Bill's crowd," said Ron. "Fred used to claim he was going to marry her."

Harry and Ginny exchanged a glance. It was sad and funny at the same time.

But Tulip was still talking. "It was, in fact, Harry Potter who saved Minister Shacklebolt's life. So even though he did disobey orders, it was to Minister Shacklebolt's own benefit, and we at Potterwatch severely question the decision. In fact, we question the decision to put Harry on probation in the first place. Merlin's saggy y-fronts — the man defeated Voldemort."

There was a rasp and a hiss. A slurred voice said: "Maybe Kin'sley didn' like what Harry did, lettin' ever'one figh' when he coulda just enned it."

"Pardon me, my associate appears to have the flu," said Lee.

"Yeah right, George is drunk off his arse," scoffed Ron. "How'd he get on the air, anyway?"

"I'm sure he still has all the passcodes to do it," Ginny pointed out. "Potterwatch was half their idea, you know. Lee was just the spokesman."

"I'm not drunk," George snarled.

"I said you had the flu," said Lee.

"My br'ther died because Harry waited," George said plaintively. "He died. Fred is dead. And—"

"And that concludes today's episode of Potterwatch!" Lee said, when he finally realized George was not going to give up, was not going to be silenced. "Tune in next time... I'll send another owl!"

The channel abruptly closed.

Harry was in turmoil.

On the one hand, it was brilliant to hear someone defend him. It had been like a balm to his soul to hear Lee Jordan and Tulip fiercely question the Minister's decision. On the other... George...

"It could be real," said Harry.

"Don't be mental," said Ron. "George was off his nut. Listen, we didn't say anything to you before because you seemed so... content to be in denial. But we've all got a better sense of your celebrity than you do. You should've been given the Order of Merlin, First Class. They should've just made you an Auror. There should be official celebrations, and — and posters with your face on it. And just because you don't want that kind of thing doesn't mean it shouldn't be there. It's wrong. And it feels... dark."

"But—"

"He's right, Harry," said Ginny. "There's no way this isn't... some sort of curse or, or, or something."

Hermione spread her hands. "I'll keep looking." She eyed the full shelves all around the room. "And maybe I'll take a few books back with me to study."

A few turned out to be twenty, and Hermione and Ginny Apparated away with armloads of books. Harry did not want them to go, but nor did he want them to have to walk back to Hogwarts in the dark. He and Ginny had not been able to do anything but exchange a few heated kisses... this was not in any way how Harry thought this day was going to go...

That night, Harry tossed and turned, and ended up swearing through his shirt. The next few days were spent frantically reading about curses, lolling in boredom, visiting Teddy, and spending much too much time in his own head.

The Thursday after Halloween, Harry headed out to see Teddy. For the very first time, Andromeda had asked him over to tend to him. "I could always bring him with me," she'd said nervously, "but I just don't think St. Mungo's is the right place for a baby this young." Harry had not asked the nature of her appointment, and she'd not volunteered. Instead, he showed up right on time.

"He's asleep," Andromeda said in a low whisper.

Harry nodded. Harry'd not been around many babies, but his experience with Teddy had taught him they slept a lot, and he knew he'd be lucky if he saw Teddy at all.

It was not to be. Andromeda was gone an hour and a half, and Harry had not heard a single peep. "Thank you, Harry," she said. Then she gave him a troubled look. "Is it true Kingsley Shacklebolt has dropped you from the Auror program? That he never truly let you into it?"

"Er, yes," said Harry.

"My daughter is — she would be — very displeased with that decision," Andromeda said stiffly.

Harry nodded and let himself out. Feeling supported was one thing, it was another to desperately wonder why and how some were the same as they had always been, and others weren't. Whatever had happened, it had spared some, and Harry needed to know why. He felt if he had that answer, he would have all of it...

For the first time in a while, Harry went to the Leaky Cauldron. He had his notice-me-not charm in place, and he watched the witches and wizards, hags and warlocks, and everyone else less easily identifiable come and go. Every once in a while, he heard his own name on their lips. Most had listened to Potterwatch, and were discussing his being booted out of the Aurors. Most spoke their support for Harry. He watched them all, eyes narrowed in thought. The firewhiskey he'd ordered hours ago was only half gone, and Harry knocked the rest of it back in one go. Deciding it was late enough, and he'd really rather be home, Harry headed out to the small square of land just outside Diagon Alley, Apparated home—

—and his heart nearly failed when he saw Ginny waiting for him, sitting atop her trunk, a pensive look on her face.

"Ginny?"

He was delighted to see her, of course. But on a Thursday? At eight in the evening? With all of her things?

"Well, I've quit school," she said. "I hope you'll take me in, since I'm not going home, either."

"And so have I," said Hermione. She and Ron stood side by side in the doorway. Both of them looked serious and unhappy. "Harry, did you ever use the Cruciatus Curse in front of Luna Lovegood?"

"I — what?" Harry said blankly.

"When you were looking for the diadem, did you use the Cruciatus Curse on one of the Carrows?" Hermione prodded.

Harry's lips felt numb. He'd quite forgotten that. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I did. I forgot."

"Neville Longbottom didn't," Ron said. He held up a copy of the Evening Prophet. "He wrote a charming letter to the editor."

Harry held out his hand. "Let me read it."

Ginny winced.

With what appeared to be great reluctance, Ron handed it over. Harry scanned the headline, and dove in:

_Everyone is making much of the fact that Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt, hero, has made decisions regarding Harry Potter that much of the public disagrees with. What much of the public does not know is that, while yes, You-Know-Who is gone, much of that fight could have been avoided. We would not have had to bury so many friends and family had Harry not wasted so much time. During the final duel (which was won by a mere expelliarmus), Harry intimated that whatever had REALLY happened in the forest was the key to You-Know-Who's undoing. Why, then, did he waste so much time—_

"Waste time?" Harry said, outraged. "I didn't bloody well know I was a Horcrux!"

"We know," said Ginny, sounding nearly as angry.

"It gets worse," Ron said ominously.

Harry read on.

_Why, then, did he waste so much time before he gave himself up? He flitted about the castle, talking to ghosts, participating in family reunions, and forcing people to fight for him. Not only that, but after having claimed to need to get into Ravenclaw Tower for reasons he would not go into, I have it on good authority that he used the Cruciatus Curse. If you know of my history, you know why I felt huge betrayal upon hearing that the man I thought of as a friend would use such a terrible curse. It is unforgivable._

_I am just one man. I can't change everyone's opinion. But I will say that many of those of us who fought at Hogwarts that night are greatly disturbed by the actions of Harry Potter._

Harry let the paper slip out of his hands and on to the floor. "That's why they want Draco's wand," said Harry. "They wanted to be able to prove it. I'm so sorry," he looked at them beseechingly. "Amycus  _spat_ at McGonagall. I was terrified and — and —"

Ron waved his hand. "I think we all used an Unforgivable or two that night," he said. "I did. I don't know about Hermione. But Dad did. Hell, everyone watched Mum use Avada Kedavra."

"Filthy hypocrites," muttered Ginny.

"Once again, Harry is targeted," Hermione said, troubled.

This time, Harry knew they had something on him. Something real. Something that could put him in Azkaban for good. His insides twisted. Draco's wand had been snapped in half, and they did not have proof. Would that protect him from being arrested? How long before—

A thought struck him. "How long are we provisioned for?" he asked Ron. An absurd feeling of gratitude welled up in him.

"Months and months," said Ron.

"What about us?" Hermione indicated herself and Ginny. "We're not leaving you two to go into hiding alone."

Harry thought of the tampons. "Ron planned for you two."

"I knew shit was going to happen," said Ron. "And Harry's been fortifying the house, and gathering all the more esoteric things we need."

Harry looked around at them. He could not think of any other people he would rather go into hiding with. "You're sure?" he asked Ginny.

"Oh yes," she said, taking his hand. "Yes. I'm sure."


	9. Educational Decree #1

CHAPTER NINE

EDUCATIONAL DECREE #1

They all talked until early in the morning: the sky was lightening by the time Harry stumbled up to bed. His brain had been put to so much work that it felt numb and slow. Asleep before his head even hit the pillow, Harry's dreams were swollen with anxiety. He was being chased through the corridors of Hogwarts by an invisible cackling witch... then he was outside and Bane the centaur was jabbing his fingers at a bright green star... he was underwater in a marsh...

Sometime around then, his dreams segued into something far more pleasant. He was in a mountain meadow with Ginny... it felt so real, he could smell the flowers, could feel them tickling his nose. She was light and warmth in his arms.

_You aren't alone._

This time, his instincts were correct. When Harry forced his eyes open in the late morning, he found Ginny had crawled into bed with him. She had done so before. After Harry had woken up from his post-battle nap in his old dorm room in Gryffindor Tower, he'd found Ginny next to him, snoring lightly, and Ron and Hermione in nearby beds. It had been soothing and peaceful then.

Now it was hot.

Harry ran his hands lightly over her back, over the t-shirt she was sleeping in. Then he did it again, this time under her shirt. Her skin was soft under his callused fingers. She wriggled a bit, and her breathing changed, but he did not think she was — quite — awake yet. He pulled her shirt up to her armpits and let his hands roam on her back, her belly.

"Mmm," she rolled over on to her back, and gave him a sleepy smile. Harry kissed the end of her nose, then drew back the covers, and leaned over to kiss one of her dusky rose nipples. "Yes," she said, voice still thick with sleep. "Wake me up like this every day."

Harry played with her until she was wiggling beneath him, her hips rolling back and forth, and her breath coming out in little pants. Slowly, he slid his hand into her pajama bottoms, and rubbed her over her underwear, just as he'd watched her do. Her hand came to grasp his, moving it to the spot she wanted, and gave him a rhythm to follow.

"Like that," she said.

To Harry's wonder, he felt her come beneath his fingers not long after that. "You came," he said. She'd cried out a little, and the sound had nearly made  _him_ come.

She blushed, and turned an even brighter red. "Well... I've been dreaming about that for years now," she said.

"Aside from, uh, these last few days, had you ever done that before?" Harry asked.

"Of course," she said.

"I mean... thinking about me?"

"Of course," she said again. "I've mostly thought of you since I started doing it... there are a couple of Quidditch stars, and the warlock from Weird Sisters. What about you?"

"Me? Sixth year. Made me grateful Ron wasn't a legilimens," said Harry. He pressed a kiss on her breast, right beside her nipple.

"What did you think about?"

His cheeks heated.

"You're blushing," she said.

"So are you," he pointed out. Her cheeks were as red as her hair.

Harry had several different favorite fantasies of Ginny that he had created during his sixth year; some of them had become quite elaborate. He'd done some work on them during the interminable months he had spent without her while hunting Horcruxes. None of them were particularly tame.

"I had one that... we'd be on brooms, and I'd be chasing after you..." Harry told her the rest of it, growing less mortified and more confident. There was a look in her eye... desire, Harry thought it was. "Then we'd just — have sex. You on top, usually."

At that, Ginny straddled his thighs. Her long red hair covered her breasts, and she gave him a wicked grin. "So you played Chaser?" she took him in her hand, and eased into a rhythm. "Should I play Seeker, then?"

He flicked her hair to the side, so he could look at her while she touched him. Later, he could not remember if she said anything more, or if he did. He just remembered how good it felt, and how happy she made him.

She gave him a few minutes to recover after he finished; they held each other. Harry did not want to let her go, but then: "I'm hungry," she said. "But I don't want to get up."

Harry grinned at her. "We don't have to get up." For modesty's sake, he grabbed his wand, and cleaned himself off. Ginny cast a charm he'd never heard of that tidied both of them up, and filled the air with the scent of fresh flowers. Then Harry said: "Kreacher!"

Half an hour later, they were drinking goblets of pumpkin juice and eating sandwiches. Every once in a while, they'd look at each other and start laughing. "This is mental," Harry said after swallowing a rather large bite. "Everyone we know has gone insane... and all I can think of is I want to make you... you know...  _come..._ again."

To Harry's immense pleasure, Ginny felt the same way. Hours passed in a sort of blissful oblivion. They talked, dozed, played with each other with increasing intimacy, sent Kreacher for food, and made each other admit to all sorts of secrets.

"What's the weirdest spot you've ever done it?" Ginny asked during a four-in-the-morning shower.

"Probably in Sirius's mum's room, when Buckbeak was in there, too..."

This made her laugh.

After their shower, they went back to bed. A thought struck him as they cuddled: "Do we have to worry about your family sending a Howler, or...?" Ginny shifted sleepily. "You mean, other than Ron? No... Hermione and I made sure our absence wouldn't be... noticed just yet." Harry fell asleep and did not move again until late the following afternoon. He may have slept longer, but he woke to something shining in his eyes. It was an otter patronus, staring at him. "Are you two ever going to come back downstairs?" it asked in Hermione's voice.

"Ugh," said Ginny. "I suppose we'd better go see them."

They reluctantly left the warm cocoon of the room, and headed downstairs. "At least I can get some fresh clothes," said Ginny. Harry gave her a sideways glance. He wished she could just move in. He would have said so had he not heard Ron and Hermione's voices from just up ahead.

"We're here, at your summons," Ginny announced, marching in ahead of them.

Both of his friends looked rather... relaxed, Harry felt. He had to admit he'd felt a bit of fear coming in here, wondering if Ron would hex him for keeping his sister locked away for several days. But Ron was hardly paying any attention to them at all.

"Sorry for calling you down here, but we really do have things to discuss," said Hermione. Harry sat on the couch. She had used her lecturing tone, so he knew he needed to get comfortable. "First of all: room arrangements," she said. "Just so you know, we've moved our things to the big room where Mr. and Mrs. Weasley used to sleep. I assume that you'll want to move your trunk up to Sirius's room, Ginny."

Harry's face felt hot, and he shot a look at Ron, who was staring stoically out the window.

"Sounds good to me," said Ginny. "But have you Confunded Ron?"

"Ron is not Confunded," Hermione said succinctly. "Your brother has discovered the benefits of discretion." At that, both her face and Ron's turned bright red.

Harry could not help but chuckle. Ron met his eye and smirked.

"All right, so I'll move my trunk up to Harry's room," said Ginny, who appeared to be trying to crack her brother's composure. Ron ignored this. Harry's eyes flew upward, in an unspoken question; Ron nodded almost imperceptibly, and Harry hid a thumbs up sign against his thigh where only Ron had the correct angle to see it. They both laughed.

"Sounds brilliant," Harry said.

The witches ignored this. "Now, the second thing we need to discuss is our education."

Harry turned to gape at her, surprised and dismayed. "Our education?"

"Yes. Mine and Ginny's. And yours and Ron's," said Hermione. "I want my best chance. So we are going to study on our own."

"But... we have this curse—"

"We left school last year because of the Horcruxes. But this year we don't even have a clue what we're dealing with. Furthering our study, and our education, can only help. Listen. What if this curse — or whatever has affected everyone — is some sort of ritual? How can we possibly help if we don't even have a solid grounding of what rituals are? What if we need these tools to help us? So yes. We're going to study, and we are going to prepare. I am nineteen years old. I'm not going to go back to Hogwarts, but once we are done dealing with this as we have dealt with everything else life has thrown at Harry in the last eight years,  _I am going to take my NEWTs."_ Her eyes blazed with a fervor Harry had not seen since the early days of SPEW. And it was a small price she was asking him to pay, wasn't it?

"All right, fine," said Harry. "We'll study for our NEWTs. Which subjects, again?"

"Excellent," she beamed at him. She reached down and produced a battered folio case. "Luckily, we've all chosen four of the same classes to try for our NEWTs in, so we can all revise and discuss together: Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense. Ginny and I've got Ancient Runes... I have Astronomy and Muggle Studies... and Ginny has Care of Magical Creatures. I've made a chart of what we need to be studying, and what days..."

Harry tuned her out.

Hermione seemed to understand that if she tried to get them to study all day as though they were in school, she would meet with spectacular failure. They eased into their studies one day at a time, spending a few hours here and there, taking long breaks for lunch, and sometimes playing games instead of working on their NEWT revision.

It was during one quiet morning while Ginny was taking a bath, and Harry and Ron were studying Charms, that they came up with their idea.

"This is the charm Hermione used for that purse," said Ron. "Look, it's even more complicated than I thought." The diagram inside was indeed complicated: it required eight points of connection to ensure the space was three dimensional.

"Should we try it out?" asked Harry. He was thinking of that cabinet they had found with all the erotic portraits and moving pictures. Harry could see how that would be a handy charm to know.

"Sure," Ron said easily.

There was a small cellar in the kitchen. In most houses, Harry assumed this space would be used for wine and liquor. Instead, he remembered that the twins had spoken of whatever had been found in there with awe. "They wouldn't tell us what they found in there, just that whatever it was, they needed Dad, Sirius, and Remus to get rid of it," Fred had told them in a hushed whisper.

Now it was free of dark creatures or curses or whatever it had been, and was an unused space below the kitchen. Harry and Ron stood back to back. The smell of damp earth was nearly over-powering. "Are you using your phoenix wand, or the Elder?" Ron asked.

"Phoenix," said Harry. "I've been trying to use the Elder only for protection spells. It feels less... dangerous to use it like that."

Ron nodded. "Good idea. You ready?"

Harry gripped his wand tighter. Then, together, they began the incantation. The ground beneath their feet trembled as though he and Ron had created a tiny, localized earthquake. The walls in every direction pushed back five feet. Harry felt a surge of excitement. "Let's do it again!" This time, the walls pushed back ten feet. The tiny cellar was now the size of the kitchen.

Ginny's face appeared in the trap door. "What are you two doing?"

"Our charms homework," said Harry. He caught her as she dropped down. She pulled out her wand and brushed her hair out of her face.

"I'll help, then," she said.

With three of them working at it, the little cellar was now the size of Grimmauld Place entire. Harry felt exhilarated. Why didn't wizards do this all the time? It was so easy.

"Harry, why don't you try the Elder Wand?" Ginny said.

Harry pulled it out. The three of them stood in a triangle, and chanted together—

—and the space became a cavern so huge Harry could not see the ends from where they stood. Even the trapdoor leading back to the kitchen was not easily found: Harry had to squint to see it. He felt a sense of unease, right before Hermione's shrieks erupted over them.

"WHAT ARE YOU THREE DOING?!"

They all looked at each other. Harry took the lead, and magically magnified his voice. "Uh, doing our homework?"

"Could you get us our brooms?" Ginny's voice boomed. Harry looked at her, and an idea struck him.

Several minutes later, a tiny figure drifted downward, becoming larger and larger as she got closer. Her face was bright pink. "There are RULES!" she shouted. "You can't just — Harry, did you use the Elder Wand?"

Harry seized on this. "I did. Look at how huge it is!" Her face tightened again. He had said the wrong thing. Grabbing his and Ginny's firebolts before Hermione could change her mind about letting them keep them, he said: "Listen. Maybe we could... make a charms project out of this."

"Charms project?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

"Yeah..."

"What if we did all sorts of charms to this place?" Ron said soothingly. "I bet there are more you want to teach us that could be real useful down here..."

"And not just charms," said Ginny. "Transfiguration."

"Yeah, we could... transfigure some of this dirt and rocks into — into—"

"Into a Quidditch Pitch," said Harry. "We'll turn this spot into a Quidditch Pitch and also where we can practice magic that needs more space than the library," he added hastily. "But we need to be able to fly, Hermione."

"Please let us keep it?" said Ginny.

Hermione stared from one to the other, then her shoulders suddenly sagged. "All right, I suppose it would be really convenient to have such a — such a huge space for practicing magic." She sighed. "But you've got to be careful — enlargement charms like this are HIGHLY regulated by the Ministry. It's just lucky we've got the Fidelius going for us, they'd be here by now with all sorts of fines... I bet all of London felt the earth moving."

She stopped talking when Ron grabbed her and kissed her so thoroughly Harry cleared his throat. "We're going to fly, then."

And it was brilliant, even though the damp, musty odor of the cellar pervaded through the cavern, and they had to keep their wand tips lit. The Elder Wand had carved out even more space than Harry thought. He and Ginny flew side by side. "Quidditch Pitch was a good idea," said Ginny.

Harry looked at her. "I know you've been missing it."

She beamed at him.

Harry did not regret their actions, even when the Daily Prophet arrived the next morning, and he realized Hermione had been right about the Ministry noticing their charms. "The Ministry detected unauthorized enlargement charms performed yesterday morning somewhere in London," Hermione read out loud over breakfast. "While no harm was done — the Muggles are blaming climate change for this one — we have been asked to remind everyone that you need a permit to enlarge spaces more than ten square feet."

"Well," Harry said jovially, slathering his toast with butter, "Now we know for next time."

Hermione was pouring milk into her cereal, when she got a perplexed look on her face, and missed the bowl altogether. "Oh!" she said, and reached into her pocket. She pulled out a galleon... Harry recognized it immediately.

"It's Seamus," she said in a tone of great surprise. She held it out to them. Harry peered closer, watching words discreetly appear and disappear. Seamus sent "What the bloody hell?" over and over and over again.

"So... is Seamus not...?"

"I don't know," Hermione sat back, looking troubled. "It's hard to judge tone when all you have are words written over the face of a coin."

"Ask him if he wants to meet," advised Ron.

"Where?" asked Hermione.

"Certainly not here," said Ginny. "How about the Hog's Head?" She looked at Harry. "Didn't you say Aberforth was friendly?"

Harry nodded.

Ron pointed a finger at him. "But you should be under your Cloak, just in case."

"I agree," said Ginny.

Hermione was tapping the fake galleon with her wand, muttering under her breath. "I've asked him to meet us, I didn't tell him Harry would be there... let's see if he—"

But Seamus was already replying.

Three hours later, Harry once again stood in the shadowy bar, watching Aberforth clean with a grungy rag. This time he was under his Cloak, awaiting Seamus Finnigan. The door burst open, they all came in. Harry stepped out of their way, and leaned against the wall.

"I'll have a Firewhisky, Ab," said Seamus.

"Are you going to pay this time?" Aberforth said.

"Of course, of course," Seamus waved his hand expansively. He lowered his voice. "Lavender and I came out here after Harry stuck it to You-Know-Who... we MIGHT have forgotten to pay for the Firewhisky... AND the room." His face broke into a grin. "We had to celebrate somehow!"

Ron snorted.

"You said Harry 'stuck it to' Voldemort," said Ginny. "Does that mean...?"

"Have I gone insane like some other people?" Seamus shook his head. "Nah. Never been more terrified in me life, and there was Harry, cool as glass."

"Can we see your patronus?" Hermione asked suddenly.

"Me patronus?" Seamus repeated, dumbfounded. "Aye, sure." He produced his wand, and a silvery, unbruised fox leapt out, and gamboled on the dirty floor of Aberforth's bar.

Harry took off his Cloak. "I reckon that's good enough for me," he told the others. "Seamus... it's good to see you."

It was several hours before they left that day. Seamus had a lot of troubling information for them: "Dean's not himself", and "I saw Angelina, and she... you know". Sharing information segued neatly into sharing theories.

"I think it's the Imperius," said Seamus, drumming his fingers on the table. "It's got to be."

Hermione shook her head. "Don't you think that would take a lot of effort by the Death-Eaters?" Of course, the four of them had discussed this before: it had been decided that it would be much too complicated to be at all probable.

Harry looked around the table and vowed to study more about curses... he felt if he just knew more, they'd be able to locate the source of the weirdness...

"Seamus," he said suddenly. "Is Dean still talking to you? Can you try to get him to cast his patronus?"

"Sure, mate," said Seamus. "It's only you he's got a problem with..."

It was another hour before they all left. "Just keep in contact, Seamus," Harry said seriously. "Use your patronus, or use the galleon again." They shook hands, and Seamus left with a wink. Harry Apparated back to Grimmauld Place, feeling rather confused. On the one hand, it was good to have someone else on his side... someone who had been there. On the other, he had a strong, unshakable feeling that whatever had happened was Voldemort's fault. But Voldemort was dead... how could he have cursed his friends from the grave?

Harry later shared these thoughts with Ginny, once they were in bed. This was not the first time he had done so. "I think you're right," she murmured sleepily. "We just have to figure out  _how."_


	10. Advanced Charms

CHAPTER TEN

ADVANCED CHARMS

"Hermione," Harry said suddenly. "Is there any way to create a Pensieve? Or buy one?"

They were sitting in what was formerly the cellar, but was now beginning to resemble something else entirely. Ron had taken a load of Black family silverware (the lesser pieces, the ones without the crest, the ones Kreacher would relinquish), and performed several tricky bits of magic that involved strengthening, transfiguring the spoons into Quidditch goal posts, and enlarging them to industry standards. They now had what looked like a very bare, very ugly Quidditch Pitch. In fact — in the space they had left, they could have several more pitches and not hurt for space. Harry himself was working on making the outer walls look more like the outside: they were now a hazy, unformed blue. In fact, he had been thinking of the enchanted ceiling at Hogwarts, and how to recreate that here, when his thoughts had strayed to Dumbledore... and then to Dumbledore's pensieve.

"I can check, but I don't think there would be any for sale," said Hermione, who was trying to transfigure a potted plant into a life size tree. Harry watched, fascinated despite himself, as roots emerged and sunk into the still earthy ground.

"I was thinking if it happened during the battle—"

"But we don't KNOW if it did—"

"But IF it did, we could use someone's memories, and watch it happen," said Harry.

"I've thought about it," said Hermione. "But memories are tricky." She blushed faintly, and Harry knew she was thinking of her parents, and how the memory charms she'd performed on them had backfired. "They have to be freely given, otherwise you could very easily get a faulty memory... it's why Dumbledore sent you to get Slughorn's memory rather than — than Confunding him or some such. And creating a pensieve! Maybe — maybe in ten years we could do it. But it's advanced magic, far beyond me."

"What about the Elder Wand?" Harry asked. "Could it help?"

Hermione shook her head. "It's not really about power, Harry. It's about skill."

"Is there any way to look at a memory without having to actually go into it?" Ginny asked thoughtfully. She was sitting cross-legged on the ground, throwing handfuls of grass seeds on the ground, and using magic to make them sprout.

"Maybe take it out of someone's head and turn it into a picture?" Ron said.

Harry snorted. "What if we just put it on the telly?"

Hermione had an arrested look on her face. "The telly."

"What's a telly?" Ginny asked, intrigued.

"It's a box Muggles watch for fun," Harry told her.

Hermione jumped up, grabbed Ron's Cleansweep, and flew very cautiously back to the trapdoor. "Research!" she said as her only explanation, leaving Harry to describe television and movies and video game systems to the fascinated Weasleys. "Blimey! Those Muggles!" Ron said repeatedly. Ginny just seemed amused.

Ron eventually followed Hermione, leaving Harry and Ginny alone together. "So did you like watching Muggle telly?" she asked.

"I wasn't usually allowed to, at least not anything I wanted to watch, Dudley always watched cartoons," Harry answered. "I didn't mind it, though."

"Cartoons?"

"Like... art work and drawings for kids," Harry explained feebly.

"And you wanted to watch more — more mature stuff on the Muggle telly?" Ginny asked. Then she gave him a wicked look. "Are Muggles anything like wizards? Do they have... naughty telly?"

"Oh yes," Harry nodded. He thought of the secret cabinet in the library upstairs, and said: "The wizard stuff is far superior, though."

Her grin widened. Then—

"Ginny!" he said. "Here?"

After they cleaned up the mess he made on her hand and shirt, he gripped her hips. She wriggled away. "Let's wait, I don't want them to come back..."

Harry sat back and looked at her. "I bet we could create some secluded areas... we have enough space..."

Later, after Ron had made a beef and beet casserole, while Hermione looked on with approval, they sat down to eat. "Mum is going to be so surprised that you've been cooking, Ron," said Ginny.

"Speaking of Mum," Ron stabbed a fork in her direction, "why haven't we gotten a Howler from her yet?"

"Ah," said Ginny, "I sent all my professors a note with a mild compulsion charm. It should work out that they... just don't really notice that I'm gone. I got the idea from the notice-me-not charm Harry's always using."

"Hey! Whenever I take it off—"

But Ron cut over him. "That's just brilliant," he told his sister.

"Speaking of brilliant," said Hermione, "Harry's idea just might work!"

"What idea?" Harry asked blankly.

"Putting memories on the telly," said Hermione. "Of course, it was sort of Ron's idea too. But I've thought of a way we can project memories onto an enchanted space... that way we can see memories..." she beamed around at them.

To demonstrate, she brought out a thick piece of parchment. "I already prepared this — it's a modified sticking charm — and watch—" she pointed her wand to her temple, and pulled out a silvery strand of memories. It flowed on to the parchment — not perfectly, Harry noted. It wasn't as though a liquid had spilled over it. It looked like it'd been covered in gossamer webbing. Hermione prodded it gently with her wand. Light and color filtered in. Harry watched as Ron brought out the beef-and-beet pie, and saw, from Hermione's perspective, a tiny, cobwebby Harry and Ginny sit down.

"That's really advanced magic, Hermione!" Ginny said.

"It needs work," said Hermione. "But the theory turned out to be sound."

"What about runes?" Harry asked, remembering the complicated runes that had been engraved into Dumbledore's pensieve. "Would runes help?"

"Then you'd need a more permanent anchor than a piece of parchment," said Ron.

"You've been studying!" Hermione said in a tone that bordered on sexual. Thankfully, this was targeted at Ron.

"Well, yeah," said Ron. "Some stuff managed to seep in..."

Ron and Hermione did not stay in the kitchen for very long, and left the clean-up duties to Harry and Ginny. They did not mind. Ginny waved her wand, and a spare wireless floated toward her. She tuned it to a channel, and music poured out of the speakers. The brushes were charmed to scrub the dishes, and Ginny sang along, off-key, to an upbeat song about medieval witch-burning. Harry put the food away, and checked the preservation spells. It struck Harry then, watching her sway a little to the music, that Grimmauld Place was sliding from "necessary sanctuary" to "home".

He thought it might have to do with the witch in front of him.

Later, when the house was quiet, and the minutes crept toward midnight, Harry lay on his side, propped up by one arm. His other hand was between her thighs, idly playing with her. There was no urgency in the way he touched her; in fact, they were both nearly asleep. Harry slid his hand up to her breasts, and stroked them. There was a thought he'd wanted to tell her, but his sleepy brain could longer remember what it was. So instead, he kissed her on the cheek, closed his eyes, and fell asleep.

The next day was Saturday, but much to Hermione's delight, everyone had wandered downstairs to study. It was the memory spell, Harry thought. He had to admit it was exciting to watch new magic being created. In fact, he brought down a large, rectangular bit of metal he had liberated from Regulus's room. It had been a mirror.

"We thought this would be good for the telly spelly," Ginny said cheerfully.

"Ooh, it's perfect," said Hermione. "Not the name — I was thinking Looking Glass Memory Charm.

"And I was thinking something dirty," Ron put in.

"Whatever we call it... Hermione, can you extract older memories, or can you just access whatever it is the person is thinking about right at that moment?" Harry asked.

"Yes, you can access older memories," said Hermione. "But it's tricky."

It took nearly the entire day, but between the four of them and Hermione's perfect rune inscribing, the mirror had become a sort of wizarding television that showed memories. It was imperfect — it now had sound, but in the memories, people spoke with a thick Mermish accent. "Well, that's all I can think of for now," Hermione said, standing up and dusting off her robes. "I'll keep tweaking it."

"It's already amazing," said Ron.

Harry was about to say something when a silvery fox bounded into the room and stopped in front of him. It said: "Erm, don't know of me fox will talk, but I saw Dean. Meet at the Hog's Head?" then left the same way it came.

Ginny sat up. "Did he mean right now?"

Harry wore a notice-me-not charm and his Cloak, not wanting to take any chances. Seamus was waiting for them in an empty booth, looking slightly more disturbed than he had just a few days ago. He had a glass of fizzy gin in front of him, and was drinking steadily. "I saw Dean's patronus," he said without preamble. "It was all... mottled and wrong-looking." He looked Harry directly in the eye. "Dean didn't even see anything wrong with it."

"D'you mind if Hermione takes that memory?" Ron asked.

Seamus raised his eyebrows. "What's that?"

"We're working on exploring other people's memories to try to figure out what happened," Ginny said. "It doesn't hurt."

"And you've got to be thinking of what Dean's patronus looks like," said Hermione. She bought out a couple of empty, corked bottles.

"Erm, fine?" said Seamus. Still, he winced when she tapped his temple with her wand. "Sorry, sorry, go on." That silvery substance curled around the tip of Hermione's wand like a strange caterpillar around a stem. She treated it gently, as though it were a living thing, and corked it in the bottle.

"You three were always up to something weird," Seamus shook his head. "And now you've corrupted Ginny."

"I'm here willingly," she said, throwing Harry a smile that made his stomach swoop.

"So there's no chance you and Dean will get back together, then?" Seamus winked at her.

"God I hope not," Harry said fervently.

"Absolutely not," said Ginny.

Seamus only stuck around a few more minutes after that, taking the mickey out of all of them, and left. Hermione put the corked bottle in her pocket. Harry waved at Aberforth, who grunted, and they returned to Grimmauld Place once more.

"But what on earth could possibly affect a patronus?" Hermione asked for the tenth time five hours later. Harry took this to mean she had never quite believed him or Ron when they'd told her about the Minister's patronus.

"Not sure, still looking," Ginny did not even look up from her research.

The four of them were in the library. Hermione had Seamus's memory of seeing Dean's shadowy patronus playing over the telly spelly on an endless loop. The pine marten dropped out of Dean's wand, shook itself off, and had a shadowy bulge over its leg. Harry watched it again. And again. And again. It felt just as wrong on the fourteenth viewing as it had on the first.

"Here's a whole chapter on the patronus," said Ginny. "How to summon it, how to summon someone else's, how to summon more than one... no mention on how to use it to communicate — so we know this is incomplete information."

"Anything about how to hurt one?" Harry asked. Ginny shook her head, and said: "But I'll keep reading."

Harry watched Dean Thomas's patronus appear three more times before he shook himself. As he now did when he became restless, Harry headed down to their Quidditch Pitch in the cellar, and summoned his Firebolt. Hermione had added a few charms to make the air smell less like a musty, little-used hole in the earth, and more like a musty, little-used hole in the earth sprinkled liberally with flowers.

He flew long enough that he was able to think again without feeling sick to his stomach with worry. It was just as he was thinking that he ought to get back to the library and help when he heard a sharp whistle.

It was Ginny, hanging out the trapdoor, long hair falling over her face. "Harry! We've had an idea!"

It turned out to be a devious plan that Harry felt had to have come from Ginny, who could be quite ruthless. At first he was opposed:

"That's kidnapping!"

"He'd do the same to us," Ron pointed out.

"He basically already has," said Ginny. "You've no idea how much time I've spent as a canary."

"We'd have to let him in here, wouldn't we?" Harry did not like the idea of letting anyone else into their private sanctuary.

"We'll make sure he doesn't remember," said Hermione soothingly.

"What if it makes it worse?" Harry asked. To his embarrassment, his voice had cracked as though he were fifteen years old.

"We'll deal with that, but Harry — Hermione's got a few ideas that could work," said Ginny. "We've got to at least try."

It hung unspoken in the room that none of them really believed that whatever had happened would be undone so easily. It was a chill in the air that everyone felt, but no one wanted to mention. "All right," Harry said finally, reluctantly. "We'll experiment on George."

They spent the following day planning — Hermione came up with three different ideas to heal George from whatever curse had befallen him. "But first, I have to do a diagnostic spell... it'll show us what kind of curse it is..."

Once they'd planned everything out, Harry donned his Cloak, and grabbed Ginny's hand.

Diagon Alley bustled with wizarding folk. Harry had to duck behind Ginny, to make sure no one bumped into him and wondered why they'd just run into thin air. She marched up the crooked little street, and when they came to #93, gave a firm knock on the door.

"I'm closed!" George's surly voice came out of the horn hanging above the door.

"It's me," said Ginny in a hard voice.

It took him a long time to open the door, and when he did, he was in a stained nightshirt, and smelled of booze and misery. "What are you doing here?" he asked suspiciously. "Supposed to be in school, aren't you? What, did Mum send you?"

"Here," Ginny shoved a piece of paper into his hand. George took it automatically, and read it.

"Grimmauld — What?!"

Harry grabbed George, spun on the spot, and Apparated into the library. Ginny was right behind him. George struggled in his grip.

"I know you're there, you bastard," snarled George.

Harry immediately let go and stepped back. George lunged toward him—

"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!" shouted Ron.

George toppled over, a look of startled anger frozen on his face. He lay on his back in the center of the library, staring up at the ceiling

"He was about to attack you!" Ginny said, stunned.

Harry exchanged a troubled glance with Ron. It had happened so quickly, Harry'd not even had a chance to draw his wand. Were his former friends and allies going to start attacking him on sight — a thought terrible to contemplate for several reasons, not least of which because the Order was comprised of formidable witches and wizards. Or could it just be because George was acting on natural instincts? He had just been kidnapped after all.

"So... I take it Ginny didn't help calm down his reactions," said Ron, who had apparently been drawing the same conclusions as Harry.

"He was irritated to see me," said Ginny. "Thought Mum sent me."

"She probably should have," Hermione said calmly. "He smells like a brewery."

She waved her wand, and George's appearance (and smell) got slightly better. "Now, let's put him to sleep and get started."

It was the first time Harry had seen a more complicated ritual performed. Hermione had set bluebell flames blazing at the four cardinal directions, then began a chant. Pure magic flowed out of her wand and into the four flames — they turned a brilliant white. The light got brighter and brighter, until Hermione said a word, and they converged and entered George's sleeping body. His body lit up like a candle; he was illuminated from within.

Harry and Ginny looked at each other, awed, and then back to George.

Slowly, he dimmed, and the light faded into a familiar, bruised purple color.

"Well, that's odd," said Hermione. She grabbed one of the books by her feet and flipped it open, muttering under her breath. "I must not have done it right... but what did I do wrong?"

The rest of the them waited patiently. Hermione often had to process things out loud.

"It's... inconclusive?" she said finally.

"Are you asking  _us_?"

She shook her head. "No, it's just that if George weren't cursed, he'd be filled with that white light. If he were... he should have turned green — green means sick, or cursed. There's nothing about this purple."

Harry trusted her, but he wanted to look for himself. The basic curse detector (approved by the Wizengamot at the Board of Healers at St. Mungo's, the book claimed) was difficult in application, but had astonishingly simple results. Green means cursed. White means not cursed. No results means the ritual spell was not performed properly.

Ginny read it after him. "I'm sorry, Harry," she said quietly.

He squinted. "At least there was  _something,"_ he said.

They watched as Hermione went through the motions: she gave the sleeping George a basic healing potion, then a stronger one that was supposed to mitigate the effects of curses. Harry could not lie to himself: he had hoped that today would be the end of it, had hoped that they would see the return of George, and they could quickly begin work on his other friends.

But life did not always work that way, Harry thought, as Hermione woke George. George saw him and jerked his whole body in the opposite direction – he was still mostly petrified, but was able to move enough that he looked like a seal trying to move on the ground. "Unchanged," Hermione sighed. "We'll take him back to Diagon Alley and... and get him fixed up. With, you know, his memory."

Harry could tell by Hermione's tone and the look on Ron's face that they were as disappointed as he was. "We'll figure it out," he said, trying to sound as cheerful as possible. "If It were easy, it wouldn't be life, right?"

"Well, not  _your_ life, true, that's rather more complicated than most," agreed Ron. Then he and Hermione grabbed George's slowly unpetrifying body, and disappeared with a pop.


	11. Potterwatch and Peril

CHAPTER ELEVEN

POTTERWATCH AND PERIL

By silent agreement, Harry and Ginny went to their room as soon as Hermione and Ron left with George. They held hands, and then held each other as soon as the door shut. Harry slid the robes off her shoulders, and she lifted her arms for him to take off her shirt. In less than five minutes, he'd gone from disappointed that there was no easy solution to their problems, to hard and pushing against Ginny's belly.

She brought him out and toyed with him and stroked him until he couldn't help himself, and came on her breasts and belly. Ginny did not seem to mind, in fact she gave him her blazing look, swiped at a dollop of white on her nipple, and tasted it.

"Merlin, Ginny," Harry breathed. He gave himself a minute to recover while she cleaned herself off, then picked her up and tossed her gently on the bed. The last month of exploring her had given him confidence, and he pulled her trousers and underpants off without hesitation.

Ginny reached for him, but he shook his head. Instead, he gripped her knees, and spread them, opening her totally for his gaze. He swallowed, both nervous and excited. It was her tasting the evidence of his climax that gave him the push to do it, but he'd wanted to for what felt like forever — he was curious about what it was like, and he'd heard witches loved it.

He kissed his way down her thigh, holding her eyes with his own, giving her a chance to stop him. Instead, she gave him a quick, nervous grin right as he kissed the crease of her thigh. And then he was there... tasting her.

At first he was tentative. He figured it was a pretty sensitive spot, so he was very gentle with her. Her hand came to rest in his hair, fingernails tickling his scalp. Harry glanced up, and found her looking directly at him, watching him with an expression on her face he'd never seen before. Heat shot to his groin.

After that, he was a little... less gentle. There was a rhythm to Ginny, as he had learned this past month. It was different with his mouth than it had been with his fingers, but he found the spot she loved, circled it with his tongue, and chuckled when the fingers in his hair convulsed.

Harry knew he would need to work on his finesse — but he also knew this was something he would do often, there was something intensely arousing about the way Ginny was moaning, rocking into his mouth, losing control the way he so often did. Harry flicked his tongue against her sweet spot, again and again and again, until he had to hold her hips down, and—

She came. He felt her pulsate against his mouth as she cried out. Harry did not know when he should stop, so he kept kissing her — gentler now — until she shifted her hips away from him instead of pushing toward him.

"How was that?" Harry asked. He scooted up her body, and rolled to the side.

"Wonderful," said Ginny. Her cheeks were red.

There was an awkward moment that Harry didn't know whether she'd want him to kiss her or not. They stared at each other while Harry contemplated whether or not he was ready to clean his lips and mouth of Ginny's scent yet. He didn't want to, but he did want to kiss her...

She finally kissed him. Their tongues tangled, and Harry decided her lack of squeamishness was yet another wonderful thing about her. It was a long, lazy kiss, like those first kisses back in Harry's sixth year.

They broke apart. "Do you want me to...?" Ginny asked.

Of course he did. But he didn't want her to feel obligated, did he? "No, no, it's fine." He kissed her.

They spent the next day ignoring the rest of the world, and just focusing on each other. Harry brushed her hair as they talked about everything and nothing. It was midday before they emerged from their room, and found their way to the kitchen and—

—saw a side to Ron he had never wanted to see.

"Oi!" Ginny cried.

Harry tripped over her on his way back out the door, and they fell in a tangle of limbs. Ginny kneed him in her haste to scramble backward, and Harry felt an absurd urge to laugh. After what felt like hours — but was perhaps more like seconds — Harry finally made it back to the hallway. He and Ginny shared a glance filled with repressed laughter.

"USE PRIVACY CHARMS!" Harry shouted.

"I'm — so sorry," Hermione managed to sound mortified even through the thick wooden door.

"Sometimes you just get caught up," said Ron. There was no embarrassment in his tone, oh no, only smugness.

"Ugh," said Ginny. "At least clean off the counter."

Harry chuckled quietly when he heard Hermione begin to use every cleaning charm he'd ever heard of, and a few he hadn't. He and Ginny walked back up to the library, and flopped down onto the smaller sofa. "At least we know they don't mind that we disappear for hours — days — at a time."

"Did we ever care?" Harry teased.

"Too true," said Ginny.

Hermione sidled in some fifteen minutes later, cheeks bright pink, and Ron followed. "We're, uh—"

"Don't mention it," said Harry. "Just... try to remember privacy charms." He had considered asking them to keep it in their room, but then he'd be honor-bound to follow the same rule... Harry did not mind where they did it, as long as he didn't have to walk in on it.

"Sure, mate," said Ron, who did not seem at all abashed. Harry was forced to admire this.

"So," said Hermione. "So."

"So," repeated Ginny with a wink. "The kitchen counter, eh?"

"Oh, don't take the mickey," warned Ron, pointing at his little sister. "You smuggle Harry away, and don't let him out for days."

"What're you going to do, tell Mum on me? What do you think she'd say to you defiling the kitchen?"

Harry chuckled.

"At least I let Hermione come out to eat!"

"Ginny let me eat out last night," said Harry, before he could stop himself. There was a loud, loaded silence after that, then—

They were all laughing.

Hermione laughed so hard she slipped to the floor. Ron had covered his eyes, but was chuckling, and Ginny... Ginny's laugh was especially wicked. It felt good to be able to let loose. The hilarity lasted for a long time, and did not end until the battered old wireless on the desk emitted a squeal and a hiss.

"That's the Potterwatch signal," said Ron, striding over to it. He twisted the knobs, tapped it with his wand, and fanfare came out of the speakers. It blasted into the room, and they all winced until Ron turned the speakers down.

"It's Lee Jordan with another episode of Potterwatch!" Lee's voice was peppy enough to edge toward obnoxious; Harry knew it had to be a deliberate affect. "Annnnnnd the Minister for Magic continues to baffle us. Late last night, he fired Daisy — our Auror informant — and issued an intent to seek the arrest of Harry Potter. But in a twist rarely seen, the courts decided, 347 to 22, that they cleared Harry Potter of any wrong doing that was alleged to have occurred during the battle with Voldemort."

"Well that's good news!" said Ginny.

"This was just the first battle, however, as sources in the Ministry claim that Minister Shacklebolt is preparing to take the case to the ICFW." Lee suddenly became very serious. "Harry — if you're listening — you have friends who know what you have sacrificed to rid us of You-Know-Who, and most of us are baffled by the behavior of Shacklebolt and select others. I know you've been keeping out of sight, and it's probably best to continue."

Harry's chest felt very tight.

"We have on the show with us today a rather legendary Curse-Breaker, whom we will call Cat Lady," said Lee. "Now, Cat Lady, you know your way around curses. Is it possible that Voldemort cursed these people prior to his death? They are all acting so irrational..."

"It's possible," an unfamiliar witch said slowly. "But damned if I can figure out which one it could be. Curses are usually physical in nature — they can cause a slow decline in health, they can kill, they can cause someone to speak in limericks for the rest of their life... I have never heard of a curse that could turn friends against each other in such a way. We cannot force people to love each other... shouldn't the opposite be true? That we can't force each other to hate? I wish I had more answers for you, Lee. I will keep looking and researching. I have received word from a Greek wizard who says he might have an idea, so there is hope."

"Thank you, Cat Lady," said Lee. "We've received letters of support from all over the world, fellow witches and wizards. We will figure this out."

Harry heard the words dimly. But a wave of desolation had swamped him, and the rest of Potterwatch went by without him really processing it. "Excuse me," he murmured, when he couldn't stand it any longer. He blindly made his way out the door, into the hall, up the stairs, and was in Mrs. Black's old room before he really realized it. It was musty and smelly. The floor was scored from Buckbeak's hooves and talons, and the walls were not much better.

It had hit him — really hit him — that most of his best friends and allies were gone from his life. He felt ill with the knowledge. His stomach threatened to rebel, though he knew he did not have any sort of Wizarding flu. Harry allowed himself to stand there in that room for several minutes while he tried to get his breath back. Cat Lady's words repeated in his brain: a curse shouldn't have the ability to create hate. A curse shouldn't have the ability to create hate. A curse shouldn't have the ability to create hate.

He leaned his hand against the wall and concentrated on breathing deeply. By the time he'd pulled himself together, it had been long enough that the light in the room had changed. His eyes burned they were so dry.

Ginny was just coming up the stairs as he came out of the room. She smiled at him — a soft, sad smile — grabbed his hand, and they went to their room together. There was nothing sexual in the way they held each other that night. Harry knew she understood him perfectly; it was there in the way she held him.

Some time around four in the morning, Harry grabbed his wand from his dresser, brought light to the tip, and looked at Ginny. She was awake, of course. "Whatever happened... I am so glad it wasn't you, Ginny," he said. "I couldn't bear it if you weren't here with me." He wasn't even concerned that she could surely see the tears in his eyes, or hear the tremble in his voice. A day ago, he'd had his mouth on her most mysterious parts, and yet he had never felt closer to her than at this moment.

"I have... waking nightmares about that," said Ginny. "What if Voldemort somehow got me, and I was right there with everyone else?" There was a hint of panic in her tone. "What if I forgot how much I love you?"

She had never said those words to him before. They hung in the air, then slowly, slowly seeped into his skin. The cold knot in Harry's stomach was gently untied as though by slender fingers. A warmth suffused him.

"God, Ginny, I love you, too," he said, voice cracking. "I'm in love with you. I love you very much."

They kissed each other, long, slow, and deep. Harry finally fell asleep, arms wrapped around her, face pressed up against her long, sweet-smelling hair.

It would have been a better day than the last, had the letter and pictures not come. Harry and Ginny woke at noon, headed down to the clean and empty kitchen, had a leisurely breakfast, and headed into the cellar to play at Quidditch. Ron and Hermione were there, laying on their backs, adding enchanted clouds to the blue ceiling of the cellar.

"All right, Harry?" Ron asked.

"I'm better," said Harry, striving to be honest.

"We're trying to enchant the ceiling like Hogwarts," said Hermione, giving him a small smile.

"Except maybe without the blizzards," said Ron. "It's tricky work, want to help?"

So instead of playing at Quidditch, Harry and Ginny lay down on the soft ground. All four had their heads together, their bodies going in different directions, and added their charms and enchantments. Ginny added a nearly real looking flock of starlings that flew around and around the ceiling. Struck by inspiration, Harry added a tree to the wall so Ginny's birds would have a place to nest. It was tricky and time-consuming, and when the owl came flying toward him, Harry did not realize it was real until it dropped a heavy envelope on his stomach.

Harry grabbed it, and was about to open it, but some instinct warned him that he'd better be more cautious. He threw it to the ground far away from himself and the others, and used his wand to open it. There was a letter, and two moving pictures, and Harry floated them closer—

"What the f—"

"Is that—"

"Oh my God, Harry!"

Harry's eyes bulged when he saw Andromeda and Teddy, tied up with sickly green bands of magic. The baby was sobbing soundlessly. Andromeda had tear tracks running down her face. "Help," she mouthed every few seconds. There was a great gash on her face, and blood dribbled out of it as Harry watched with horror.

The other photo showed a dilapidated building, dark and imposing against a setting sun, with a shadowy sign swinging back and forth as the only sign that this was a wizarding photo, not a Muggle one.

"What the f—"

"Harry, read the letter!" ordered Hermione.

Harry floated the letter closer to his face, careful not to touch it, and read it out loud.

" _Harry Potter,_

_You're cowardice has kept you alive, but not long now. I got the blood traitor whore and the filthy werewolf's get. They die unless you get here by midnte. Their in pain, so make it fast."_


	12. The Threat and the Fury

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE THREAT AND THE FURY

Harry felt as though the ground had tilted somehow — as though the charm the Elder Wand had wrought were collapsing, and the room were constricting into a tiny, moldy cellar once more. Confusion swamped him. Why would anyone take Andromeda and Teddy? What motivation could there possibly be? Harry stared at the note. Stared at it, tried to make sense of it, and grew ever more confused by it.

"None of them would do this," Harry said through dry lips. "It can't be them. So who?"

They looked at each other.

"I have to go," said Harry.

"I know," said Ginny. She indicated herself and Ron and Hermione. "We're going, too. No arguments," she added sharply. Harry was reminded vividly of the discussion they'd had in the Gryffindor common room. It had helped that Harry knew she couldn't be too mad — not ten minutes before, they'd woken up with their arms around each other, after all — but it had been a scary minute or two. "I need to know you're on my side," she'd said forthrightly.

"Good. I need to know you're on my side," said Harry.

She gave him a tense smile.

Then they got down to it. "I know of a spell that can lead us here," said Hermione, peering at the picture of the house. She conjured a pair of gloves, and took hold of it between two fingers. "It's complicated, and it will take a few hours."

"I've got shit we can use," said Ron. "I bought out WWW's inventory on Shield Hats, Curse Caps, and any other defensive item. Thought we might need it." They were already mounting tossed aside brooms. Hermione sat behind Ron, and squeezed him around the middle.

Harry and Ron gathered up all the supplies they would need, while Ginny and Hermione set up the spell. "It'll only work if it's not Unplottable or Untraceable," she said anxiously.

"I've got a feeling whoever has done this wants us to find them. Well, wants Harry to find them at any rate," said Ginny.

"Speaking of that," said Harry, "I want to pretend to go in alone... you three hide under the Cloak..."

"What if we snuck in around the back — houses have always got a back door, right?" suggested Ron. He ran his hand through his hair, making it stick up.

Hermione scratched her nose. "I've almost got all the components," she muttered. "Ginny, you'll help?"

"Harry and I will figure out our strategy," said Ron.

The more Harry thought about this, the more he deeply disliked the idea of going in blind, without even knowing who was lying in wait for him. Previously, it had always been Lord Voldemort. Harry'd known how he thought, what his most likely actions were to be. This... took a different sort of preparation.

"You, Hermione, and Ginny will wear the Cloak, right?" said Harry. He grabbed a Curse Cap off the small pile Ron had brought down.

He and Ron planned and went over the plan again and again. Every time they peeked their heads into the library, the witches were kneeling and staring intently at the picture while surrounded smoke-like magic.

"It's working!" Hermione said triumphantly.

Harry clattered up the stairs, changed clothes, grabbed a different outfit out of Ginny's trunk, and carried it down to her. He also grabbed the Elder Wand, deciding that the holly-and-phoenix could stay home for this.

Hermione was nearly ready, and the witches changed their clothes behind a partially closed door. Harry was itching to leave. The unknown perpetrator had not given him a time frame, but his stomach ached when he thought of Teddy, trapped and bound, not knowing help was coming...

"It's an old house on Laurel St., in Peterhead. Scotland."

Harry was once again impressed by the magic the witches had wrought. They'd created a magical map of a city based on a single picture with almost no defining characteristics. It almost made him want to study.

Ron outlined their plan. It was simple enough that within five minutes, they were ready to go.

Harry took one deep breath, turned on the spot, and Apparated to a little town on the frigid waters of the North Sea.

The house on Laurel St. looked exactly like the picture, complete with the swinging sign and dilapidated air. It had not been maintained in quite some time. The cobbles leading up to the stoop were broken, and weeds had filled the broken places. Slush lay on the ground in the shady spots.

And the ghost of a little boy with a gash across his throat bobbed in front of the door, giving them all a baleful look. Unease cat-walked up Harry's spine. He was no stranger to ghosts, but this one had none of the charm of those who had congregated at Hogwarts. For one, paralyzing moment, Harry thought this little boy ghost could be Teddy, forced to shape-change, and murdered before Harry could get there. Cold sweat broke out across his brow before he could calm his own fears. Teddy is an infant, how could he possibly metamorph to someone older?

"She's goina die shrieking," the little boy said. His voice was raspy from the slice in his throat. "They're all goina die shrieking."

"Er," said Harry.

"I didn'," he said. "Couldn', cause of me throat." He pointed a pale, smoky finger at Harry. "Don' be thinkin' to ask me fer help."

Harry did not ever want to see this ghost again, and could not imagine an instance in which he would ask him for help. "I will try not to bother you," he said. "If you'll excuse me."

The ghost looked sullen. "Ther in thar."

Harry hoped he had given the other three enough time to creep in around the back, because the longer he stood out here, the more exposed he felt. He was absurdly grateful for the Curse Cap he wore...

A few more seconds, and he pushed open the creaky door. It was dark and silent, but when one could command both with the wave of a wand, this did not mean much. Harry gripped the Elder Wand tightly in his fingers. "Expecto Patronum," he whispered. His stag came to protect him and to light the way.

Together, they walked into the next room. The floorboards creaked and Harry wiped his sweaty palm on his trousers. He walked with one hand on the patronus's ephemeral back. It was a warren of rooms in the downstairs, and Harry and his stag searched them all. Every once in a while, he thought he heard someone breathe... thought he heard a faint cackle... like the cackle he had heard in the woods the day the Minister ejected him from the Auror training program.

The last room stooped down into darkness. Harry moved as silently as he could down the stairs, ducking his head at a low mantel. It was here that he became all too aware of his own breathing: it verged on sounding like frightened pants. Harry took control of himself, modulated his breathing, swept the shining light of the Elder Wand to and fro, pretending to himself that he was not frightened.

He jumped when something dropped in another room, clattering to the floor. His heart sped up, and he wished — he wished it were Ron, Hermione, and Ginny.

They should have found him by now.

Telling himself they just kept missing each other, Harry continued onward. He had to force himself to be quiet: fear and impatience both had made him less quiet than he needed to be.

Harry could hear his heart beating in his ears.

The second floor was no better, except be found multiple dead rats staked to the floor. Harry gave it a wide berth, not wanting to know the purpose for crucifying rodents to the floor of an otherwise empty room. He had to walk through a curtain of wooden beads to get to the area; he did so as quietly as he could, pulling them back, and ducking through the middle.

Harry found another set of stairs just up ahead. By this time, his worry for the others was a gnawing ache in his stomach. Where could they be? How could they possibly have been caught? The Cloak was impenetrable. He was so lost in his worry, that it took him several seconds to register that there in the third floor alcove lay Andromeda Tonks and Teddy. Andromeda's eyes were wide and terrified, and she was jerking her head—

"Crucio," said a high, malicious voice.

Pain erupted.

Harry was on the floor, writhing, and someone was making animalistic sounds — him, he thought dimly. Wand. Grab your wand. As though he were moving in slow motion, he flicked his wand, and then his stag was standing between him and the Cruciatus... it cut off, and Harry screamed: "SECTUMSEMPRA!"

A great blood gash appeared on her shoulder and sliced down her arm, spilling blood like a fountain. Harry took the moment to look at her... he couldn't quite place her, but she looked familiar enough that he knew he'd seen her before—

She cackled, and sent a curse at him, but Harry deflected it. Her face dropped into a bitter, sullen look.

"Alecto Carrow," Harry said in disbelief. Last time he'd seen her... she'd been incarcerated with her brother in the Ravenclaw common room. She had much changed, and not for the better. Dark brown hair hung in lank strands down her back. There were untold stains on her robes, and one half of her face sagged.

The worst was her eyes.

A milky purple film that Harry did not remember seeing before had grown over her eyes. It was unnatural and hideous, and Harry recoiled from it.

She opened her mouth in a rictus of a grin and sang an ugly, wordless tune that made the hackles on the back of Harry's neck rise. He knew that song. He had heard it before.

"Why the hell are you trying to kill me?" Harry finally asked.

"You came in the front," she said. "Coward, sneak like you, whyncha come

through the back? Had some treats for you." Her grin widened. It was not a sane grin, and Harry's knees were suddenly a bit watery. He could barely even spare worry for Ginny and the others.

"Why?" Harry forced the fear out of his voice. "Voldemort is DEAD. What is this, revenge?"

Her lips twisted. "Coward. Sneak. Letting people die for you." She sang these words like a song in that dark and familiar tune. She twitched her wand, and suddenly — by the light of Harry's patronus — Harry saw projectiles flying toward her, stopping an inch away, and looking like a weird shadowy cloak she had just dawned.

"Muggles are disgusting," she said dreamily. "I learned that even more last year as Professor of Muggle Studies."

Harry sidled closer to Andromeda and Teddy. His entire body ached at even that small movement.

"Did you know they let their sick people get eaten alive?" she asked, milky eyes unfocused. "They get some sort of filthy Mudblood disease, and they get eaten one bite at a time while they sleep in their disgusting hovels. They get eaten alive by rats because they can't even feel their own feet..."

Harry heard a skittering sound. He shuffled closer to Andromeda and Teddy.

And then it came, and a breath expelled from his body so fast it was as though he'd been hit in the chest. A scourge of rats came through the door, biting, clawing, and fighting each other, yet still maintaining an unnatural formation. Harry threw his aching body toward Andromeda and the baby.

"Harry Potter will have more friends die for him today," she said. "Then he'll die like Mudblood filth..."

And then she sent the rats toward them. It seemed as though it happened in slow motion... the rats were dead and reanimated... rodent inferi... and the tide rolled toward them. Using all of his strength, Harry lifted the Elder Wand and blasted the rats — a few fell out of formation and went motionless. Again. Again. They kept coming, and Harry kept blasting. There were so much more than had been in the room downstairs, and he knew he couldn't—

"BOMBARDA!" someone shouted.

Then Ron stood there in the broken wall, and Hermione and Ginny were blasting rats. Harry's ears were ringing. Alecto was screaming.

Harry forced himself to move, to remove the insidious ropes around Andromeda and the baby. She tried to hand him Teddy, but Harry shook his head. "I'd drop him," he said. His arms were shaking that badly.

Andromeda pushed herself up against the wall, and used it to help her to her feet as Harry watched feeling useless.

"There's no need to be ashamed, she had you under that curse for ten, fifteen minutes," Andromeda told him sharply.

Harry nodded, but wished he could do something to help his friends, who were blasting rat after rat and—

"Where'd she go?" Ron bellowed.

"Oh f—"

Ron and Hermione raced down the stairs while Ginny blasted the last of the rats, and then ran to throw the Cloak over Andromeda and Teddy. "Just in case there are curses hiding on this side of the house as there were on the other," she said grimly. Then her face went white with alarm. "Harry, what's wrong?"

"Cruciatus," Andromeda said succinctly, stooping to pick up something behind her: her wand. Harry figured it for a special kind of torture to have a wand so near, and being prevented from using it to save herself. "She had him under quite a while."

Ginny looked at him, horrified. "Harry!"

"I'm okay," he said. And truly, he was starting to feel better. Something about her steadied him. "Let's get out of here..."

They hobbled down the stairs, slowly, scanning for traps, scanning for Alecto. Ron and Hermione were clattering around somewhere, shouting something incomprehensible.

"—LET HER GET AWAY!"

Harry stopped short, he had never heard Hermione scream with quite that much fury.

People were shouting outside.

"It was Alecto Carrow, you arse!"

"And why is he here, then?" asked Mr. Weasley.

Andromeda suddenly gripped Harry's arm so tightly that he nearly fell to the floor. "I alerted them with one of the old communication charms once I realized someone was in the house," she said in a harsh whisper. "I told the Order... now they are here."

Once, those words would have suffused Harry with hope. No longer. He looked at Ginny. "Apparate back to Grimmauld," he said. "We don't want them to know you're here..."

Her face was set and white as she turned on the spot and disappeared. And not a moment too soon, for the house was breached that moment by Mr. Weasley and Bill.

"Who just left? Who else is a part of this?" snarled Mr. Weasley. His wand was clenched in a white fist.

"It was... Kreacher," Harry lied swiftly. Most of the lethargy fled his limbs in this new, rather more personal threat.

"What did you do to Andromeda?" Bill rasped.

"I—"

"I TOLD YOU HE DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!" Hermione shrieked at him. "I HAVE HAD ABOUT ENOUGH — OF — THIS—"

Harry was blessedly prevented from hearing the rest of the argument. Andromeda's gripped his arm again, and pulled him along with her as he Apparated away.

"Sorry to do that to you," Andromeda said stiffly.

"No, don't be," said Harry. "I—"

And suddenly there was a lump in his throat. It's the Cruciatus, he told himself. It's made you vulnerable.

Andromeda led him into her home, and put Teddy — who was blissfully asleep, there was no way it natural — in his crib. "I made him sleep," she told Harry, echoing his thoughts.

"It's not a good idea to stay here," said Harry, noting the moving pictures on the walls. Most were of Tonks — young Tonks, teenaged Tonks, Tonks and Ted, Tonks and a crowd of friends including a rather happier Bill Weasley... Harry had not known they'd been such good friends. He hated that Andromeda had to leave this place, that held so many memories of her daughter.

Andromeda shook her head. "I'm not going to stay here long. Just long enough to pack a few things."

"Do you want to come to — to—"

Harry had forgotten he could not mention Grimmauld Place to anyone... Ron would have to give her the location. "Do you want to come live with us? It's... safe." He wondered how she would feel if he knew he was offering her a place in her own family home, from which she had been exiled so many years ago.

She shook her head. "Harry, I... this baby... he needs not to be in the center of whatever this is that's going on. My family. This was the life they lived. My sisters consented to living in a world where they — or their husbands — would turn rats against an innocent baby because of who he was born to. I did not. I am going to take Teddy to America... I have friends at MACUSA."

Harry felt a pang of grief, but he nodded. "I understand... Teddy needs his best chance. And Alecto got away."

"She is unwell," said Andromeda. "Even dying. She used much of her strength today."

Harry nodded. He had noticed the same thing. The hate and malice coming off of her... she had put nearly everything she had into the Cruciatus Curse, and had had almost nothing left to spare for the Avada Kedavra... had relied on the rats to kill him.

"I am going to find her," Harry said quietly. Alecto had answers, he knew it. His brain, sluggish from the Cruciatus, had finally noted the song she'd been singing followed the same tune as one he'd caught Mrs. Weasley humming... the Minister whistling. This was too much of a coincidence for him to believe these events were separate.

He looked at Andromeda. It was for the best, then, that she and Teddy left. The scene today... that had been ugly, and not only because of Alecto Carrow.

"Harry..." she reached out and patted his hand in a motherly gesture. "Thank you for my life. Thank you for Teddy's life. Please... please do what you can to end this. I... don't fancy America, I'm afraid."

"I will," Harry promised. He thought of the Weasleys. "I promise."


	13. Mrs. Weasley Pays a Visit

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A VISIT WITH MRS. WEASLEY

"What the hell happened?" Harry asked the second he materialized in the library. They were waiting for him.

"I'm sorry we took so long, Harry, and—"

"Never mind that, Alecto mentioned she'd booby-trapped the other side of the house — or I suppose there were two houses," said Harry.

"It was a duplex," said Hermione, unable to help herself.

He looked them all over, relieved to see nothing broken or bleeding. "You're all right."

"We're not the ones you need to be worried about," said Ron. "Ginny said you had the Cruciatus used on you?"

"I'm fine," said Harry. "No, I mean it. Still a little shaky, but otherwise... I need to know what the hell happened. Andromeda said she sent an alert to the Order when she knew someone was in the house with her, so... that's why your dad and Bill showed up?"

"Yeah, they were searching since she went missing, apparently," said Ron.

"They didn't have the advantage of having a photograph," said Hermione. "They had to track her down a different way."

Harry was momentarily side-tracked. "How would they do that?"

Hermione waved her hand. "Oh, there are probably a thousand ways to track someone," she said. "And I'm barely exaggerating. For one, I know that Remus created a bunch of charms for the Order to use. They stockpiled them just in case..."

"Remus?" said Harry, bewildered.

"He was a werewolf," Ginny pointed out. "I assume he was an excellent tracker."

"The best," said Hermione solemnly.

Harry thought of Remus's tiny son, who had been in so much danger today, and who was now probably on his way to America, to be protected by MACUSA. He shifted restlessly in his seat. The earlier answer to his friends had not been a lie — he had largely recovered from the curse, but little flashes of remembered pain kept interrupting his train of thought.

The silence stretched on. "So... your dad and Bill," he said, looking from Ron to Ginny. "I assume they thought it was me?"

"It was  _terrible,"_ Hermione burst out. Then words came gushing out of her: "We were chasing Alecto — she was evading us — and then we burst outside, and there were Arthur and Bill — this ghost was yelling that they were going to die screaming — and they just  _let Alecto go!"_ She sucked in a breath. "They kept asking where you were, where you'd taken Andromeda and Teddy — and Bill  _hexed Ron_ when he tried to catch Alecto." Her voice was saturated in shock and disbelief.

"It's getting so much worse," said Ginny. Her tone was flat. They'd all said this at one point; it was getting tired.

This one felt like a blow. The Minister had kicked him out of the program, yes. But today, members of the Order of the Phoenix had let a Death Eater go. But now, more than ever, Harry thought it wasn't their fault.

"I don't think it's their fault."

Harry told them why: the milky purple eyes, the song, what she said... "It's all tied together," he said firmly, as though daring them to argue. "We just don't know how yet."

"And my effing brother let her go before we could get answers," Ron said savagely.

"Hey! It was Dad's fault, too!"

Harry leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. It blurred. The Cruciatus curse had sapped the strength out of him. It was early yet, and he was knackered. Little black dots showed up then, making interesting swirls and patterns. He watched them for a while, while the voices of his friends and girlfriend rose and fell. A cool hand pressed against his cheek.

"Let's get to bed," said Ginny.

Harry somehow stumbled up the stairs, almost entirely supported by Ginny.

"You sure you don't need help?" Ron called when they were halfway to their room.

"I think we've got it," said Ginny.

He needed to help her more, needed to move his own body—

Harry woke an indeterminate amount of time later. Ginny was asleep next to him, snoring lightly, one leg splayed out of the covers. It was dark in the room; full dark. There were pins and needles in Harry's legs, and he shifted, trying to get comfortable.

Harry had gone down to the kitchen to get a drink of water — it gave him a chance to expend some of his restless energy without waking Ginny — when he heard something... odd.

"—here—"

"—how—she—"

"—where—"

"—sure?"

The voices sounded as though they came from a long distance, and Harry swiveled his head, peering into the shadowy corners of the room. There was no one in the kitchen with him, of that he was certain. The room was empty.

He finally spied the wireless, and felt a surge of relief, and had a bit of a chuckle at his own expense.

Two days later, he was trotting down the stairs to join the others in the Quidditch Pitch, and he thought he heard someone say Ron's name. "Hermione?" he said uncertainly. But the halls were empty, and so was the library. Harry continued on, and was both pleased and troubled to see Hermione there with Ron and Ginny.  _It must've been a portrait talking,_ Harry told himself.

Over the next day and a half, Harry grew increasingly sure that Grimmauld Place was not nearly as impenetrable as he thought. He told Ginny — but Ginny'd never heard anyone. She didn't disbelieve him, just was wary. "It's possibly the wireless...?" she said. It was that night she'd done something particularly wonderful, and Harry forgot everything until the following day.

He heard a snippet of conversation — and turned around to yell for Ginny, when Ron came stumping out of a nearby room—

"What the hell is that?" they asked each other as one.

"You hear it too?" Harry said with great relief.

"Well, yeah," said Ron. "What, you thought you were going mental?" Despite everything, he sounded amused.

Harry did not reply. The voices had disappeared, as though they had turned a corner somewhere and gone out of earshot. A thought struck him. "What if it's ghosts? No one else can penetrate the Fidelius, can they?"

They called for the witches. "—and we were wondering if it could be ghosts," Harry finished his explanation.

Hermione spread her hands. "I don't know, Harry. Frankly, I think you know more about the Fidelius than I do. You've actually cast it."

It was just then that Ron gave a great start, as though someone had jabbed him with a pin. "Ow!" he said loudly. He leapt up from his seat, pushed up his robes, and found a bright spot of blood in a circle of red. "Something just—just— _bit_ me."

"Must've been a bug," said Hermione.

Ron sat back down, unsettled. "Bloody bugs," he grumbled.

"Anyway, Hermione," said Harry, turning back to her, "I don't know more about the Fidelius than you do... I just followed the instructions. I'm sure you know the entire history..."

"Well," said Hermione, "I didn't know that the Fidelius  _could_ be cast on the same location twice. People tend to keep the circumstances in which they need charms like the Fidelius to themselves as a protective mechanism. You'd be surprised at how little we know about what it can do and how far it can reach."

"Or if there are limitations," Ginny said thoughtfully. She took his hand in hers and squeezed.

Harry expected her to run over to the bookshelves and start grabbing reference materials. Instead, her shoulders slumped, and she looked how he felt: dejected, overwhelmed, and in over her head. It had shaken her, Harry knew, when Bill and Mr. Weasley had allowed Alecto to leave. It had shaken all of them. If only they had someone to talk to someone who knew these things—

"Dumbledore," said Harry.

"What?" Ginny asked blankly.

"We should talk to Dumbledore," Harry said, voice firm. "Or his portrait anyway."

"Oh God," Hermione moaned, and covered her eyes. "For a second I thought you were going to suggest the Resurrection Stone, and I was going to agree. I'm losing it."

"Wasn't the Resurrection Stone trampled in the Forest?" asked Ron.

"Yeah," said Harry, though he privately thought he could find it again. "But I think his portrait could at least answer some questions. I wish I'd thought of this before..."

It took some discussion before they were all prepared to go to Hogwarts. "It... you don't know what the sentiment is like, Harry," Ginny said. "I think it may even be dangerous for you to be there. Maybe even more dangerous than last year—"

"When Voldemort broke the castle to try to get me?" Harry smiled at her. "At no point will I take off the Cloak. I'll even do a notice-me-not charm on top of it."

"Use the Elder Wand," she told him. "I'm not losing you to someone you tried to sacrifice yourself for seven months ago."

"She has a point," said Ron, folding his long legs.

There was a part of Harry that agreed with them. Every once in a while, he got a twinge — a leftover pain from the Cruciatus Curse. This made him not want to leave the total safety and privacy of Grimmauld Place.

"Let's not go today," said Harry. "Let's... give ourselves a minute."

The four separated into two couples and went their separate ways. Harry took advantage, and lost himself in the wonder of Ginny.

“Harry...” Ginny said, drawing out his name on a sigh. “When can I... you know...  _kiss_ you?”

 

Harry stared at her. “You mean what I think you mean?” he asked. When she nodded, he said fervently: “Any time you want.” To prove this, he shucked off his shirt, and started unbuttoning his trousers.

 

Ginny knelt on the bed, beaming. “Excellent,” she said. “I just thought — you said no after you did me—“

 

“Just because you’d already made me come, and I didn’t want you to feel obligated,” said Harry. He was down to his pants. Her eyes were on him; there was a greedy look in them that sent further heat to his groin. His pants tented.

 

She took over undressing him, tugging his pants down to his knees, and taking him in cool, firm hands. Ginny was quite good at this, Harry thought. The pressure in his shaft increased as she glided her hands over him, exploring him, using her fingernail to lightly trace the head. His knees quivered when she looked up at him.

 

“Wait,” he said. “Wait.” He licked his lips. “Can you — can you take your shirt off? I want to be able to look, to see your breasts.”

 

She grinned up at him, and made short work of her own clothes. Then she cupped her breasts, pushing them together, rolling her puffy nipples between her fingers. Harry was fully hard now; it strained up toward his stomach...

 

...and when she took him in her mouth, he knew she was tasting him. His eyes rolled back in his head. Feeling her kiss him was like nothing he had felt before. Her mouth was warm and wet, and, God, her tongue was swirling around the head. His muscles bunched, and he had to force himself not to come thirty seconds after she’d started.

 

He put his hands on her head and massaged her scalp. Her hands were all over, tickling the hair at his base, stroking his thighs, tugging lightly at his balls... but his favorite was when a few minutes later, she began to stroke his shaft. The pleasure was so new and so intense that he was nearly blinded. Her head bobbed up and down, increasing the rhythm. Harry watched this, then his eyes drifted down to her breasts. Three things happened at once: Ginny swirled her tongue around the tip again, pressing hard; Harry noticed that her nipples, which had been puffy when she brought them out, were hard; and he came.

 

There was no warning. He came in her mouth, filling it, he was sure. She swallowed twice, and continued to milk him with her hand. Jolts of pleasure continued to shoot through him, long after he’d spent his last drop.

 

“Was that okay?” Harry asked, once he could form words again. “I forgot to ask if you wanted me to, you know, pull out.”

 

Ginny gave him a very satisfied look. If she’d not just given him the climax of his life, Harry would have hardened at that.

 

“Oh, I liked it,” she said. There was a creamy white liquid at the corner of her mouth. “It was definitely okay.”

 

Then she sprawled back on the bed, gave him a hopeful smile, and spread her legs. “My turn?” she asked.

 

“Oh yes, it is definitely your turn,” said Harry. He looked at her, spread out like that, and felt a pulse of excitement. She was already wet, Ginny was. Her folds were swollen. “You’re aroused. Doing that for me aroused you.” He gave her an intense look.

 

“Well, you generally get hard when you do it for me, it shouldn’t be too much of a surprise,” said Ginny.

 

Harry moved closer, and repositioned her hips so he could see all of her mysterious parts. “Oh, but you’re infinitely more sexy,” he told her, pressing a kiss to the seam of her thigh. “Infinitely more beautiful. Of course I get hard.”

 

And then he proceeded to show her exactly how beautiful he thought she was.

It was not until the next evening that they all congregated once more in the kitchen.

"What are you smiling like that for?" Ron asked his sister suspiciously.

"You really don't want to know," Harry grinned widely.

"So... Hogwarts," said Hermione, who looked much more herself. She sat cross-legged on the table, wearing a dressing gown. Her hair was wet from a shower. "I have some ideas for how we can get in..."

It was nearly midnight before they Apparated to the quiet streets of Hogsmeade. There were few people out and about. Only a few houses and establishments still had light streaming from the windows; the Hog's Head being one of them. They had all decided that doing this under the cover of darkness was better than trying to navigate the school the week before the Christmas holidays started.

Harry shambled after them, nearly tripping over the hem of his Cloak. Winter had arrived with a vengeance: snow sloped on rooftops and piled up against walls. They were walking against the wind, and had just turned on to the snowy lane to Hogwarts when there was a sharp CRACK! and Mrs. Weasley landed on top of her son.

Ron went down with a cry of fear and shock.

"Mrs. Weasley!" Hermione yelped.

Harry stood stock still.

Mrs. Weasley stood, divested herself of snow, and immediately started shouting. "WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?! HOW DARE YOU IGNORE A WEEK'S WORTH OF OWLS!"

Harry started at that, he'd had no idea Ron was ignoring his mother — he could have told him that would not end well.

"Mum—"

"And YOU!" Mrs. Weasley rounded on her daughter. She seemed quite undone. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING OUT OF SCHOOL?!"

"I've been helping Harry," Ginny said grimly.

Mrs. Weasley's face twisted with a fury that had Harry taking a step back. "THAT —"

"There's something wrong with you, with all of you, and I'm trying to help Harry figure it out," Ginny stood her ground. Harry had never loved her more. Not even last night.

"WHAT'S WRONG WITH US IS THAT WE FOUGHT FOR A MAN WHO RAN AWAY WHEN YOUR BROTHER DIED!"

Her eyes were twinkling oddly, as though an unseen fey torch were lit and reflecting in their depths. They were precisely the same shade and shape as Ginny's, and Harry shuddered.

"Harry would never—"

"DO NOT ARGUE WITH ME, LITTLE WITCH," Mrs. Weasley shouted. "YOU TWO ARE COMING WITH ME—"

She grabbed for both her children. Ron shook off her grasp, but her arm clamped down like a vise on her daughter's arm. Harry lifted his wand just as she turned on one foot, and shouted: "FLIPENDO!"

Mrs. Weasley was knocked back several feet. Ginny skidded after her, but managed to wrench herself away and Disapparate. Harry followed.

"HOW DID SHE FIND ME?!" Ron bellowed as soon as he too appeared in the Grimmauld library.

"I don't know entirely how Remus did it, but I know he used several components, like a focus — your mum has something of yours — she has a lot of things of yours — that can power the charm. She also may be able to use your magical signature," said Hermione.

"Our what?" Harry said blankly.

"It's... basically how our magics are unique. Imagine how the Trace is used — it traces whomever — within limits, which is why your mum doesn't know exactly where we are, when we are there."

"I'm of age," Ron said, outraged. "How can she track me using my—my signature?"

Hermione made a helpless gesture. "As I said a few days ago, there are countless ways to track someone, and your mum could be doing any number of things."

"So how to we stop her?" Ginny asked, her face bright red.

"I don't know," Hermione said helplessly. "You'd have to change or disguise your signature—"

"How?" Ginny demanded.

"Well... I don't... I can't think..." Hermione sounded quite frazzled. "The easiest way is to bond with someone else."

Harry sat up straight. "Bond?"

"Well, you know... marriage," said Hermione. Her cheeks were bright pink. "If we all... bonded together..."

"All four of us?" Ron sounded dumbfounded.

"No. Just — just me and you. Together. And Harry and Ginny. Together."

They all stared at each other in total silence.


	14. A Special Occasion

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A SPECIAL OCCASION

Ginny and Ron could not leave Grimmauld Place, and Hermione was busy researching various rituals, so it fell on Harry to do what he felt quite ill-equipped for: perform all the necessary errands for a double wedding. He was very grateful it was kept simple for him. "Just get trees instead of flowers, Harry, that'll be easier," said Hermione. "It'll look lovely down at the Quidditch Pitch." But Harry did not know where to get trees in London. It was not until he was flying over a Muggle area that he found a large sign that said "Christmas tree lot!"

He ended up buying all the trees, shrinking them down to fit in his pockets, down his shirt, in his socks, and under his armpits. By the time he was done, the proprietor was gaping at him as though he had gone mad. "Sorry to do that," said Harry. "I've got a wedding to plan." Then he confunded him.

"What're all these trees doing here for?" Ron gaped as Harry enlarged them and spread them out in what was hopefully a pleasing pattern.

"Hermione told me to get trees," said Harry.

Ron's lips twitched. "I think... she meant the kind of trees Bill and Fleur had at their wedding. They were little and came in pots. Don't you remember?"

"No, I don't, I've had other things on my mind since then," Harry said sharply.

Ron shrugged. "Well, I don't mind getting married in a forest. D'you?"

This was not the only thing Harry didn't do exactly right (though, to be fair, he did not do anything precisely wrong, either). Ron was in a fairly good mood about it. "The witches decided not to come down, they said they want to know what kind of wedding you'd come up with without supervision."

Harry was tired and irritated: he'd spent the last night luring fairies so he could hang them in the trees that Hermione had told him to get. "We'll probably need lights, too. Can you get some fairy lights?" she'd asked this the night before. "And hang them in the trees?" So Harry'd gone out hunting for fairies.

"What d'you mean?" Harry said indignantly. "I'm just doing what they tell me!"

"You do know you can buy strings of fairy lights in Diagon Alley," said Ron. "She didn't mean  _actual_ fairies."

Harry glanced down at his hands, which were covered in bites and scratches. He had learned the hard way that fairies were not beings of sweetness and light. "She didn't mean  _actual_  fairies," he mocked under his breath.

"Hermione says we need some sort of special spot to stand in, and Ginny says she's always wanted a water feature at her wedding," said Ron.

"Special spot?" Harry asked suspiciously. "Water feature?"

"Like a waterfall or something," Ron shrugged. "Don't expect me to know what Ginny wants. I figured she'd want to get married on a broom."

Harry's shoulders slumped. At least Ron helped with the trees and the fairies, arranging them in a half circle as far from the actually Quidditch Pitch as it was possible to be. In fact, it was starting to look like a very small version of the outdoor grounds of Hogwarts. With that in mind, Harry used his magic to double the size of the trees. He looked at it, satisfied. That was better.

For the life of him, he could not think of a special spot. Recreating Platform 9 3/4 would have been perfect, but it would look very odd here in the miniature forest Harry had created. Not to mention, it was quite drab. Harry did not know a lot about weddings, but he knew they weren't supposed to be drab. He could think of any number of secluded areas around Hogwarts that were special to him and Ginny, but that would leave out Ron and Hermione. A thought struck him, and he jumped up, hopped on his broom, and headed back up to the main levels of the house. Ron was right behind him.

"Hermione, what time did you say was best for the ritual?" Harry asked. He grabbed his invisibility cloak and swirled it around himself, leaving just his head poking out.

"Two minutes to midnight," Hermione said placidly. She was reading a thick book, and taking notes.

"It's tomorrow, right? The longest day of the year?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Harry," she said.

"All right," he said.

He nearly Disapparated before he remembered one very important thing. "Oh damn!" he said, and thundered up the stairs to retrieve it from their bedside table. Ginny was nowhere in sight; Harry did not know the details, but knew she was working on her dress. His stomach clenched with excitement. It was in a state of nervous excitement that he Apparated to Hogsmeade to take care of a few last minute details.

The Hog's Head was not empty for a change, but Harry found Aberforth lurking in his own storeroom, avoiding his customers. "Aberforth, it's me," hissed Harry from under his Cloak. "Listen, I've got a — a special occasion happening tomorrow, and I need a favor..."

Harry did a few more errands, gathered a few more things, and — almost staggeringly tired — headed home to Grimmauld Place, where Ginny awaited him with a smile, a mug of tea, and some very bad news.

"What do you mean, we have to sleep apart tonight?" Harry asked, astonished. He felt as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders — though that might be the rocks he'd shrunk down to pebbles and brought home in a large bag Aberforth had given him. He'd been looking forward to relieving some tension with Ginny.

"It's bad luck for us to see each other before the ceremony," Ginny explained.

"I thought that was some weird Muggle tradition," said Harry, dismayed. "Hermione didn't put you up to this, did she?"

"No, the Muggles probably got it from us," said Ginny. "It's to do with the bonding charms. It's not like it will place a curse upon our — our marriage," she flushed slightly at the word. "It's just... tradition."

"And you want to follow it," said Harry. He smiled at her. "All right. Just know that tomorrow night, I won't be letting go of you so easily. Or at all."

She kissed him, then, sweetly. Harry put his hand in her long hair and kissed her back. He pulled away, and leaned his forehead against hers. "You're sure?" he asked.

"Oh yes," she said. "Yes, I'm sure. Are you?"

"Yes," he said. And he was. It was a little hard to believe that he was getting married tomorrow at the age of eighteen, but he knew he wanted to be with her the rest of his life. She understood him, understood the things that had happened to him, knew him deeply and utterly. He could not have this kind of bond with anyone else; Harry did not want to try... did not want to even think about trying.

Ginny surged up to kiss him again, and he understood by her passion that she somehow knew his thoughts. It was difficult to let her go, and it was one minute to midnight — officially less than twenty-four hours before he'd be a married man — when she turned and disappeared up the stairs. Harry, still energized, heading back down to finish the wedding preparations.

It was past dawn by the time Harry made it up to bed, and he slept deeply until a wand jabbed him in the shoulder.

"Time to get ready, mate," said Ron.

By the quality of the light, Harry knew it to be late afternoon. "Lemme sleep." A cup of firewhiskey floated by his head. Harry's eyes popped open. Finally, Ron had made himself useful.

A blistering heat slid down Harry's throat and into his stomach. Harry coughed, and a little spurt of flame came out of his mouth. "That's good stuff," he said, gasping. He drank more.

"Fred used to swear by it," said Ron.

They toasted to that. This time, it was more of a pleasant burn. Harry felt warm and light, and like this was the best day of his life. "I worked  _hard_ for this day," said Harry, thinking of one Christmas tree that had been wedged somewhere particularly uncomfortable as he had flown home to Grimmauld Place.

"You did, mate," Ron said affably. He sat down on the end of Harry's bed, and took a swig from the bottle. "We couldn't have the wedding to Hermione's overly vague specifications without you."

Harry chuckled. "You know, I haven't figured out what  _your_ job in all this is."

Ron passed him the bottle. "I'm doing it. Truth is, wedding planning isn't  _really_ my thing."

Harry hit him with a pillow. "And it is mine?" he said in mock outrage.

"Well, let's go see it, then," said Ron. They did not don their dress robes yet; instead they brought them down to the Quidditch Pitch — though Harry supposed that was no longer the most appropriate thing to call it. During the process of planning for this wedding, it had become much more.

Trees bunched together right beyond the Quidditch goals. They were huge, and towered above them, as though they were in the land of giants. And — Harry's favorite part — a tower nestled among them. Even though it was not attached to a castle, it was obvious that it was Gryffindor Tower, where the four of them had spent so much time and had so much fun. Harry'd had to improvise the balcony where they would perform the ritual, but it was... good enough, he supposed.

Ron was gaping.

Harry smirked.

"You... made Gryffindor Tower?" Ron said in a strangled tone.

"I figured it was a special spot for all of us," said Harry.

They climbed up it. It was actually only the tower itself, with the Gryffindor flag flying above it. There were windows, but there was nothing inside. "It actually wasn't too hard once I'd got all the rocks placed," said Harry. He and Ron dangled their feet over the edge, listening to the waterfall flowing endlessly into the pool below. They passed the bottle of firewhiskey back and forth.

"The witches are going to love it," Ron said openly. "Hell, I love it."

By the time ten o'clock rolled around, he and Ron were greatly in need of sobering charms (which Harry thought were much too difficult to perform whilst experiencing a pleasant, buzzing feeling). "Hold on," said Harry. He looked at Ron. "I think we shud — we should use the Elder Wand for this."

So it was that — with the help of the Elder Wand — he and Ron were mostly sober by the time they had to get ready. Harry could still feel the firewhiskey, but it manifested as a calm sense of well-being.

"Ready?" he asked Ron.

"Feels like I've been ready for seven years," said Ron.

They were putting the finishing touches on the dress robes when Ron handed him a blindfold. "Put it on, they're serious about us not seeing them until it's time."

Harry sighed, and put it on. Ron fiddled with something, and there was a great suctioning sound. "What are you doing?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Never you mind," said Ron.

"Just don't ruin my tower," said Harry.

"I'm not," Ron grunted. "I'm — just — putting — blindfold — on."

Somehow, Harry did not believe this.

"Got it!" said Ron.

And not a moment too soon. There was a loud whistle. "We're here!" Ginny shouted.

"Hold on, I just have to do something," said Harry. He lifted the corner of his blindfold just barely, so he could see the tiny mirror he had embedded into the wall of the tower. "Aberforth, Aberforth, Aberforth," Harry said three times. Then: "Engorgio!"

"Oh my God!" came Hermione's shocked voice.

"Oh Harry..." said Ginny. "Oh... this is perfect."

"Is it?" came Lee Jordan's voice. "Damned if I can see anything but you four. Looking good, by the way, mates," he said.

"Lee!" Ginny cried. "And Seamus — Lavender! HAGRID!"

"What've you done to George?" Hermione asked, amused.

"I know he'd want to be here," said Lee. "So m'n Seamus stunned him and got him dressed. He should sleep through the entire thing."

"And you dressed him like that because...?"

"Fred would've wanted him to be all dressed up," Lee said pompously.

Ginny and Hermione laughed.

Harry felt quite smug that his brilliant idea — to tell the friends who had not had some sort of curse befall them that they were getting married, and to be at the Hog's Head if they wanted to watch — had worked. He was only slightly disappointed that they could not see the transformation.

He could hear a camera clicking from behind him, and turned to smile in Ginny's direction.

"I think I'm most impressed by the waterfall," Ginny said. He could feel her next to him. He reached out to grab her hand and she squeezed it. Harry knew where she was looking. The waterfall had been the last thing he'd made, and had been trickier than even the tower. It was twenty feet across and forty feet high, and flowed in constant loop.

"You said you wanted a water feature, and then Ron said waterfall," Harry said.

"It's perfect," said Ginny. "Perfect. It's like we've found a hidden area of Hogwarts..."

Ron and Hermione were chatting through the mirror with the others. Thinking of secluded areas of Hogwarts, Harry was suddenly eager to get this over and done with. "Are we going to get on with this, or not?" he asked.

"Impatient!" said Hermione. "We've just got to get everything set up. Ron, what's this—"

"It's my contribution," Ron said hastily.

"Okay," Hermione said slowly. "It better not be what you showed me the other day..."

Ron laughed wickedly. "You'll just have to find out."

Harry tried to block out his friends's verbal foreplay. It was not hard; he closed his eyes and told himself that in less than an hour, he would be married to Ginny, and hopefully in less than two, he would—

"Almost done," said Ginny.

Then she told him it was time to take off the blindfold. For long moments, all he could see was her. She wore a white dress that cinched in close around the bodice, waist, and upper thighs, then sort of... feathered outward around the legs. Harry'd never seen anything like it before... she wore her hair long — it was shockingly red against the white. A cap covered her head; it was mostly white, but had a great red jewel over her ear. She was beaming. Harry felt stunned.

To complete this image of perfection, his parents stood just over her left shoulder, smiling at—

Harry's mouth fell open. There was a life-sized picture of his parents, perfectly situated so it looked like they were guests at his wedding. Sirius stood next to them, young and handsome... Remus and Tonks, holding newborn Teddy. His eyes filled with tears.

"I've been collecting them all week," said Ron. "It's tricky business, enlarging magical photographs."

It was not only Harry's family, but Ron and Ginny's and Hermione's. Ron had floated them somehow... if Harry squinted, it looked like they were really there. All of them.

"Oh, you boys," said Hermione. Then they were all hugging, just for a couple heartbeats, and then they stood back. Ready to get married.

Hermione did most of the work, muttering under her breath as she did so. "It's not necessary," she said, thrusting a couple vials of potion at them, "but I've read in a few old books that this helps magnify the bonding..."

Harry drank it all — it was hot and cold, tart and sweet, all at the same moment. Harry smiled lazily, filled with a sense of well being. Smoke from several censers Hermione'd lit filled the air.

Then it was time to say the words. Ron went first, then Harry. Harry ignored everyone else, but told Ginny he would love her, cherish her, and honor her the rest of his life. He held his breath when she promised the same.

"Okay, it's almost over," said Hermione. She looked frazzled but radiant. "Now we — now we kiss, and then at 11:58 we'll bond..."

Harry had no trouble doing that. As he kissed her, he felt little surges. It was Ginny's magic, melding with his. Harry finally understood why Bill had looked so thunderstruck when the tufty-haired minister had tapped his and Fleur's entwined hands with his wand. It felt like nothing Harry had ever felt before...

They continued to kiss.

Someone cat-called, and Harry could hear Hagrid sobbing and blowing his nose. Reluctantly, he pulled away.

"MR. AND MRS. POTTER!" Lee roared. For the first time, Harry noticed how, exactly, Lee and Seamus had dressed George for the occasion. His first act as a married man was to laugh so hard he almost cried.

George was dressed in a sparkling, shining evening gown, and looked quite resplendent. Harry wiped tears out of the corners of his eyes. Ron and Hermione were already trying to figure out how they could get a picture with him, and Harry and Ginny hurried to help.

They drank, they toasted each other, they took a million pictures, they received toasts from a blubbering Hagrid, a lascivious Lee, and a drunken Seamus and Lavender (who looked like they were probably going to avail themselves of one of Aberforth's rooms). It was four in the morning before the celebration wound down. Harry and Ginny left shortly after Ron and Hermione. They shut down the connection between the mirrors. Harry shrunk it down to its real size and pocketed it. Then, together, they got on her firebolt and she steered them in the direction of the trap door.

"You're ready?" Harry asked quietly when they were at the door to their room.

"Oh, Harry," said Ginny, smiling and rolling her eyes a little. "I've been ready for this for ages. We certainly didn't wait until were were married to have sex because of  _me."_

Harry undressed her almost reverently. “Did you make this all yourself?”

 

Ginny shook her head. “Hermione and I found a trunk of old clothes in the attic — don’t worry, they were  _thoroughly_ cleaned by me, Hermione,  _and_ Kreacher.”

 

“I wasn’t worried,” Harry said, amused. “That explains why the dress looks a little — old-fashioned. In a beautiful way,” he added hurriedly.

 

Ginny tugged the bodice off, revealing her breasts, and Harry forgot what they were talking about. He lifted them into his palms, reveling in their warm weight. His thumbs stroked her nipples, and felt them tighten.

 

Then he let his hands drop. “We don’t  _have_ to—“

 

“I really want to,” Ginny said simply. Her cheeks turned red. “If you knew how many times I’ve touched myself, thinking about what we’re about to do, you wouldn’t make me wait anymore.”

 

Harry chuckled, then stripped. Then they were both naked, looking at each other, and Harry was already hard and pointing straight at her.

 

“Well?” Ginny arched her eyebrow at him.

 

They lay down together, facing each other. Harry let his hands wander where they wanted: they roamed over the silky skin of her back, played with her breasts, and dipped down between her thighs. She in turn stroked his chest with her fingertips, and reached down to take him in her hand. He was so hard, and she grew wetter and wetter as he played with her clit.

 

“Harry,” she said, some time later. Her chest was flushed, and she was grinding herself against his palm. “Harry — please. Just — put — it — in.”

 

This startled a chuckle out of him. “I thought I was supposed to make sure you were ready?”

 

“I’m ready, I’m ready,” she said.

 

As it happened, so was Harry. He rolled over on top of her, and settled between her spread thighs. They pulled against each other, feeling each other’s heart beats in the places they most wanted to be connected.

 

And then they were. Harry slid into her with a loud groan. She was warm and wet and welcoming. He felt tiny muscles quivering around him, drawing him inside her.

 

He had to move. He pulled out almost all the way, then pushed back in.

 

“More,” she said in a strangled tone, squirming under him. Harry began to thrust in earnest, finding a rhythm, and moving with Ginny, who was quickening the pace.

 

“Oh God, Ginny.”

 

The words burst out of him when she grabbed him around the waist, and ground against him. Whatever she was doing... Harry could hardly keep himself from climaxing. Instead, he found a rhythm that she seemed to like, and held her tightly as he pushed into her. Hard.

 

“Oh God oh God oh God,” she chanted. “ _Harry.”_

He kept going, nearly mindless now, Ginny was so tight... so wet... so tight. Her arms locked around him in a death grip, she shrieked, and he  _felt_ her come on him.

 

“Oh fuck,” he said. Three more thrusts, and he came harder than he’d thought even possible.

Harry could not remember ever being so happy... so blissful, really, and they probably wouldn't have left the room for another month — maybe two — if an urgent owl from St. Mungo's hadn't interrupted the festivities.

Harry was on top this time, moving with great purpose, when he felt something drop onto his sweaty back, and dig in its claws. "WHAT THE F—"

He scrambled to the side, and saw a tawny owl with beady, imperious eyes staring him down. It held a letter in its talons. Harry took it, glaring at the bird.

"What is it?" Ginny sat up, looking quite grumpy. They'd been interrupted at a  _most_ inopportune time. Harry opened the letter, scanned it, then read it again more slowly, suffused with surprise.

He handed her the letter.

" _Dear Mr. Potter,_ it read.

_We have a patient that has been screaming for you. Normally we would not bother you with such, but she is on the verge of death. There is nothing we can do for her. I do not ask you to come out of mercy for her, nor do I think you owe her compassion. She has a Dark Mark._

_We here at St. Mungo's support you, whatever you may decide._

_Thank you for your time, and regards,_

_H. Rowan Khanna_

Harry read it out loud. "It's got to be Alecto, right?" he asked. He got up and started to pull on clothes. Ginny grabbed her wand, and cast freshening spells on both of them.

Ron and Hermione were down in the kitchen; Ron had amassed quite a feast, and Hermione was sitting on the table, helping him arrange everything.

"Merry Christmas!" Ron said loudly.

Harry's mouth fell open. The note from St. Mungo's was forgotten. "It's Christmas?" he said weakly.

Ron gave a great snort. "Yes, you two broke your record this time. We thought for sure we'd see you last night, but Kreacher said you just asked for pie and whipping cream, and nothing else."

Harry's cheeks heated. "We were — you know."

"We know," Hermione said dryly. "But it's not like you hadn't before."

Neither Harry nor Ginny replied.

"What?" Ron gaped.

"You didn't... you two were... virgins?" Hermione asked. "But all that time you spent days in your room?"

"Well, we did pretty much everything else," said Ginny.

"Mum's going to be pleased," Ron said, after stuffing his face with ham and a spoonful of sweet potatoes. "None of the rest of us waited for marriage, I assure you."

"I can't imagine why Mum would ever find out what I did or didn't do before marriage," Ginny said acidly.

"She'll find out, you know she will," said Ron.

"Only if you open your big, fat—"

"We got a letter from St. Mungo's," said Harry, a little desperately trying to head off a Weasley fight.  _Weasley/Potter fight,_ he corrected himself with no small amount of smug pride.

While he was distracted, Ginny had handed the letter to Hermione. Ten minutes later, Ron was still protesting having to leave the feast he had created. "Bloody Alecto," he muttered, kicking at the troll foot umbrella stand. "We should just let her die."

"We are," Hermione said soothingly. "We just want to hear what she says first."

It turned out that not only did Ginny and Ron know Rowan Khanna, but she was an old friend of Bill's from Hogwarts. Apparently she'd been at the wedding and everything. Harry did not remember her. She worked at St. Mungo's and dealt with all sorts of witches and wizards dealing with non-physical trauma and curses.

"She's in the Closed Ward," Khanna said grimly. She led the way, walking with the brisk pace that Harry associated with Healers, and crowds of Muggle women pushing strollers. They all hurried to keep up.

Harry gleaned information along the way. Alecto Carrow had been found in Hogsmeade yesterday, facedown in a snowbank. One of the proprietors had brought her to St. Mungo's, where they thought she was too far gone. They'd found her death mark: "After that, she still received care, but not — no one wanted to work on her," said Khanna. "So it fell to me. I thought she was never going to open her eyes again, but she's had moments of lucidity." She took a deep breath and slanted Harry a glance. "I didn't want to mention this in my letter, but I can't help but notice how... odd things have been lately, since you defeated He Who Must Not Be Named. And it just seemed like something you would want to know."

Harry agreed with her, and told her so.

In the end, they were very nearly too late. They found Alecto in bed, but her back was bent in a bowstring, and her mouth was open in a silent scream of terror.

"She screamed herself hoarse," said Rowan. Her tone was without remorse.

"Harry Potter," she said. It was a rasp, and sounded painful. Harry studied her. She hardly looked human anymore, and it was nearly as unsettling as watching Nagini come out of Bathilda Bagshot's body. Her hair was matted to her head, and her mouth was open much too wide. It was splitting at the corners. Her eyes were entirely covered by a purple film. Bruises covered her face; but they were not natural bruises, oh no. They were incorporeal, as though made of smoke. "You killed me. You killed all of them. Your cowardice..."

Despite everything, she was trying to sing that damned song. Harry's lip curled. He stood over her, watching her.

Then she managed to scream, a horrible, wild sound. It made the hair on the back of Harry's neck rise, his stomach plummet, and he nearly brought his fingers to his ears, to shove them in and block the sound.

Then she died, and the sound stopped as suddenly as though cut by shears.

It wasn't over. Out of her body rose a smoky sort of substance, the same that had made up her bruises. It congealed into a cold, black mass. Harry took an instinctive step backward, his nerves tingling. Despite everything Alecto Carrow had done, and all she had tried to do, he could not help but feel he had just witnessed a deep, elemental perversion. It wasn't that he didn't want it to happen to her, it was that he didn't want it to happen at all.

Feeling sick, he looked at Ginny and the others. "I think we ought to try again to talk to Dumbledore's portrait."


	15. Harbinger of Death

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

HARBINGER OF DEATH

This time, as they headed up to Hogwarts in the middle of the night, their journey was unimpeded by any unexpected visitors. Harry held Ginny's hand tightly; ever since they had married, neither one wanted to be parted. Ron and Hermione, ahead of them, also held hands.

It was eerie and silent walking so late at night up a path Harry knew very well in daylight. The only sounds were their quiet voices, the snow crunching beneath their feet, and the wind rustling the tops of the trees. Harry thought of the Dementors, and hoped the Minister and his Aurors had managed to keep them bound. He did not fancy meeting a swarm of shadows on this dark night.

But their journey went unmolested by either Weasleys or Dementors. They paused at the gate that Harry had rebuilt last summer, before he had truly noticed anything had gone wrong. Ginny, Ron, and Hermione placed Disillusionment Charms on each other, and Harry used the Elder Wand to cast Muffliato. He checked with Ginny to make sure she had the Marauder's Map at the ready, and climbed on to his broom. Ginny and Ron mounted, and Hermione tucked herself in front of Ron.

"Ready?" he said.

They kicked off into the night. Harry made his way straight for the Headmaster's Tower, though he did nearly pause several times. Much of Hogwarts was still broken. The witches had told him this; it was still hard to believe. What must it be like for the students, to walk through a school that had broken hallways and open spaces where stone walls should be? To be constantly reminded that Voldemort had cracked the school like an egg, and that so many students had died in its defense.

Harry tucked these thoughts away, and proceeded onward.

They'd thought the Headmaster's Tower was sure to be covered in protective magics; it had been their entire years at school, Hermione had informed them, quoting from  _Hogwarts: A History._ In preparation, she and Ginny had worked out a Superdetector Charm, so Harry could use the blunt force of the Elder Wand to get rid of it.

To their great surprise, the window to the Headmaster's office was hardly even locked. Harry's muttered: " _Alohamora"_ took care of it with an ease that felt wrong. Hermione cast  _homenum revelio._ It was empty.

Harry felt a pang of unease. It had been easy... much too easy. Still, he girded himself, opened the window, and slid off the broom to stand on the very edge of the window sill. Despite the broom in his hand, Harry was very aware of the long drop behind him.

Ginny snorted and Harry nearly fell to his death.

"What?" he said in a harsh whisper.

"Sorry," she said, her voice bubbling with a mirth that felt very out of place just at the moment. "I'm sorry. I was just checking the Marauder's Map — since, you know, it's infallible — and — and—"

She held it out to Harry, who took it, bewildered and clinging to the side of a castle, hundreds of meters in the air. He scanned it frantically, and then started to laugh:

There on the map were four names nestled very closely together: Harry Potter, Ginevra Potter, Hermione Granger, and... Ronald Granger. "Ronald Granger," he chortled.

"What? Let me see!" squawked Hermione.

They each took swift turns in looking at Ron's name change. Ron finally snatched it away and tucked it in his pocket. "What's wrong with being a Granger? I'm proud to be one," he said. "At least now my mum can't hunt me down now. Anyway," he said with great dignity. "We have something more important to do."

Harry was rather impressed at that.

"Professor," he called in a loud whisper. "Professor Dumbledore!"

No one replied. It was as though the portraits hadn't even heard him.

"Oh!"

After he took off the Muffliato Charm, Harry tried again: "Professor Dumbledore? It's me. It's Harry."

"Harry? Have you come for a visit?" said Dumbledore's portrait.

"Professor, something terrible is happening, and we need to talk to you... we need your advice," said Harry. "Is it — safe — to come in?"

"For the moment, yes," said the portrait.

Harry stepped down into the room. The others followed him. Not much had changed; it looked as though Minerva McGonagall spent very little time here, considering the dust on everything. The air had a musty feel. It was disturbing and relieving at once.

"As it happens, we have not had company in quite some time," said the portrait. "But Minerva and Kingsley and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were here not too long ago, asking about the Fidelius Charm. I assume you placed a new Fidelius Charm?"

Harry's mouth opened and closed. How like Dumbledore that even his portrait could guess at the things he needed advice on.

"Yeah," said Ron.

"From what they were saying, they had accessed a sort of Grimmauld Place made of shadows: a remnant, I believe, of the Charm I myself was part of those years ago when I was alive," said the portrait.

"That would explain the voices," said Ron.

"You realize, don't you, they are tracking you, Mr. Weasley — or, Ron, if I may."

"Yeah, call me Ron. I'm a Granger now, anyway," Ron said proudly. "We know they were tracking us. We tried to get to you before, but Mum caught us at it. So we all bonded with each other so they couldn't track our magical signatures anymore."

"You... bonded with each other to change your magical signature?" The portrait sounded more surprised than Harry'd ever heard the man in real life. "That was a rather... large step." This made Harry defensive.

"And because we love each other," said Harry. "Ginny and I would've done this eventually, so once it became the obvious solution, it was an easy decision to make."

"The obvious solution," the portrait said slowly. Harry thought it might be struggling to hold back a laugh. "Ah! Well then, my felicitations to the four of you. May your marriages be blessed."

"Thank you," they all murmured.

"I would offer you a toast, but as you can see"—it spread its arms—"my arms are made of paint."

"It's all right," said Harry, smiling.

"Can we get down to business?" Ginny asked. "Not that we don't want a cozy chat, but—"

"Indeed, Mrs. Potter," said the portrait. "Shall I tell you what I know, to expedite the sharing of information?" At Ginny's nod, it continued: "I know that some time after Harry defeated Voldemort, the ghosts of Hogwarts fled, and — the mischief spirit — do  _not_ say his name — became a rather more threatening entity. I know that some members of the Order of the Phoenix have taken a severe, increasingly irrational dislike of Harry; I saw that with my own magically painted eyes. I know that there are Dementors congregating in spots around Great Britain. But, again, I am only a portrait, and my avenues of communication are severely limited."

"You've got the basics, the stuff that's been tormenting us for months," said Harry. "We've done a bit of work, though. We can show it to you — it'll be easier than telling."

"Yeah, we brought the telly spelly," said Ginny.

Hermione tossed her a playful glare, then reached into her beaded bag, and pulled it out. "We took the idea of a Pensieve, and made it a little less immersive," Hermione explained. "It's different, but the point is, you will be able to watch our memories... hopefully you'll see things we won't."

"You made this? Truly, you are the brightest witch of your age," the portrait said magnanimously.

Hermione held up her wand. Then, as though she created a river between her thoughts and memories and the telly spelly, she began to show Dumbledore's portrait everything they knew. It merely watched until—

" _Stop,"_ it said sharply, the moment it saw Dean's shadowed patronus. There was genuine fear in its tone.

Hermione halted the river of memories.

"Mr. Thomas's patronus has corrupted?" It asked.

"Yes, and the Minister's," said Harry. "Here, watch." He showed the portrait the ugly scene in the woods not once, but three times, at its request.

It had turned grey. "Oh, Harry, I am so sorry."

"What? Why?" A surge of trepidation went through him.

"All of you, I am sorry," the portrait said. "Your courage and chivalry of last year in making the sacrifice you did should have been enough... the fact your loved ones have been cursed so terribly... I am sorry."

Panic filtered through him.

"But Professor," said Hermione, "we did the curse detection spell, and it was inconclusive. We — we kidnapped George Weasley and tried everything we could — we couldn't find a curse."

"It's his patronus that's been corrupted, not his body," the portrait said. "A terrible, terrible thing. Tell me more. Tell me everything."

Harry took up the story-telling. He ended it with Alecto Carrow, describing how she died, what she'd sung, that terrible scream she'd uttered at the moment of death, and the darkness they'd all felt brush by them. "It was awful," Harry finished. He did not think he would ever be able to forget it.

"Do you know what amortals are?" Dumbledore asked.

"Beings that have never been alive, and therefore cannot die," Ginny said immediately. "They are more like forces of nature than individuals."

"Yes," said the portrait. "Somehow your family and some of your friends have been cursed by an amortal."

"But... how...?" Ginny sounded bewildered.

"That's a very good question," said the portrait.

"And why are some of them affected, and some of them aren't?" Harry demanded. "If Voldemort or some Death Eater unleashed an amortal curse, how come it only got some of the Order? Why are Ron, Hermione, and Ginny still with me, but the other Weasleys aren't? Why is Dean cursed and not Seamus? Hagrid is safe, but not McGonagall?" He launched his words at the portrait. "Lee Jordan is fine, Aberforth is fine—"

"Harry!" said Hermione. Her mouth was open. "Harry, it didn't happen during the battle!  _It happened when we were in Gryffindor Tower, sleeping!"_

Her triumphant words rang out like a chorus of trumpets.

"What?" said Harry.

Hermione held up her hands. "Aberforth left to check on his bar. Lee went to go tell everyone via Potterwatch what happened. Hagrid... I don't know — he probably went down to his hut, or to — to talk to Grawp. Or maybe he's immune to it because of his giant's blood."

"Seamus and Lavender left to go sh— uh, celebrate being alive," said Ginny. "And we were all together in the dorm... Hermione cast those protective charms."

It all slid into place. "It happened when everything was supposed to be over," he said, almost in awe. "Alecto mentioned her brother died — what if — what if they — he triggered it after they got down off the ceiling in the Ravenclaw common room? And that's what killed him?" He turned to Dumbledore's portrait. "But what exactly could it have been? Dementors are — are amortals, right? So someone used a Dementor to—"

"Not necessarily," said Ginny. "There are a few different types of amortals: Dementors, poltergeists, banshees, boggarts... and that's just those found here in the Isles."

"Well done, Mrs. Potter," the portrait said smoothly. It was still pale. It was as though the color in the paint was slowly leeching away. Harry felt fear in the pit of his stomach.

"How do we fix it?" he asked through numb lips.

"I am afraid I do not know," the portrait said gently. "I do know that you need to discover which amortal being is the source of the curse, how it is bound to the cursed one, and any other piece of information you can find."

"I just — I can't — I'm sorry, but I can't believe those two worthless Death Eaters were responsible for all of this," said Hermione. "They seemed so — so stupid!"

"Oh, I am certain they did not come up with this curse, Ms. Granger. I'm certain it came from Voldemort himself. Who else could have done this?" the portrait steepled his fingers. "As we know from the locations of some few of the Horcruxes, Lord Voldemort hid things with his followers... did not tell them the consequences of unleashing such a curse. Lord Voldemort would have considered Amycus or Alecto or whomever else a sacrifice for the cause. A chance to corrupt Harry Potter's friends and allies? Voldemort would have sacrificed anyone for a chance at that..."

Harry had to admit that did sound like Voldemort. "So an object held the curse?" he said. "That's how it was unleashed after his death?"

"I believe that must be it," said the portrait.

"But how could an amortal whatsit turn people against Harry?" Ron burst out. He looked angry. "And what happens if we can't get the curse off? They just continue — continue hating Harry?"

Everyone looked at him. "I think the way it's progressing... I think we saw how the curse ends," Ginny told him gently.

"No," said Ron, shaking his head, and covering his eyes with his hands. "No, no, no. Why would they die? It doesn't make sense."

Hermione laid her hand on his chest. "It's a progressive curse. Alecto must have — must have been closer to whatever it was; I bet the severity of how it begins is a proximity issue... but Ron. We aren't going to let your entire family die. We just aren't."

"We aren't," said Harry. He cut a glance at Dumbledore's portrait. "I never gave the Wand back," he said. "We're going to need its help."

The next few minutes were saturated with fear and speculation. Finally, with reluctance, Harry realized they were now only talking in circles, that they had picked Dumbledore's portrait dry of information. It hit him just then how much he'd wanted Dumbledore to piece together everything and hand him the solution. He'd had valuable insights, but...

"I think we'd better go," said Harry during a lull. "We'll study amortals, and — and we'll try to come back once we've figured out more of what's going on."

He was impatient, even eager to get back to Grimmauld Place. But that reminded him: "Dumbledore, d'you think it's safe? Will the Order be able to get in?"

"They will not," it said placidly. "It is a secret within a secret. You will be fine."

They slipped out the way they came. They flew slowly in the depths of the night. Everything was quiet; nearly everyone was gone for Christmas holiday. They all stayed right beside each other, and this time, they looked their fill at all the damage Voldemort had wrought. Harry spoke a spell, and used the Elder Wand to fix the great hole in the wall where — he realized with a lurch of horror — Fred had died. The others spoke quietly. Harry thought idly of renewing the Muffliato charm, but it was nearing three in the morning, surely no one would be—

"Potter," a cold wind sighed.

Hermione swore. "It's him."

"Hurry!" Ginny shouted.

Then Harry was swatted out of the air as though by a giant hand. He tumbled over and over and over again, barely managing to keep his grip on his broom, heart pumping wildly. Harry managed to regain control, hanging upside down over a pile of stones.

Peeves the Poltergeist appeared in front of him. Harry had known him well, once. His mischief had been legendary. He'd looked part, and had taken on the appearance of a little man in odd clothes. No longer.

The stretched figure of Peeves floated before him; there was no sign of a grin on that skeletal face. A jolt of fear went through Harry when Peeves blinked.

"Oh Potter, what's happened, what have you done?

They'll gouge their own eyes out, and you they will shun

The ghosts will not help, they'll hide, that's for sure

Die screaming, they will, in a voice just like—"

But Peeves was not given a chance to finish his song. Three voices roared as one banished him. Peeves retreated, and the sky flashed with light, and Harry's broom bumped and jolted. Ron and Hermione pulled him up and along. They crossed over the gates, Harry dropped to the ground, and vomited into the grass.

"You were not taking the mickey about Peeves," Harry said shakily, wiping his mouth.

They all went straight to bed as soon as they got home. Harry brushed his teeth and rinsed his mouth of the sour taste, then went in to find Ginny standing in the middle of the room, totally unclothed, with tears streaming down her face. He held her as she cried, and led her to bed.

"We'll do everything we can," he promised. "We'll search the whole world if we have to."

"I know," said Ginny. Then she slid her leg over and straddled him.

Afterward, much afterward, when they were nearly asleep, a thought struck him. "You know, we could grab George again. We could see if we could try anything on his patronus. Maybe a healing spell, or...?"

"Great idea, Harry," Ginny murmured sleepily. "We'll try that in the morning."

It was more like early evening two days later by the time Harry grabbed George — who had been trudging up from Knockturn Alley with a rather surly look on his face — and brought him back to Grimmauld Place.

"Petrificus totalus," Harry said absently. As George toppled to the floor, he said to the others: "Any luck?" While Harry nabbed George, the others were making a list of all the spells and potions they needed to try. Once Harry had told the others his idea, Hermione'd immediately suggested acquiring some strong potions from St. Mungo's, which had been difficult to manage.

Luckily, the healer Harry had spoken with had been very much in awe, and had asked very few questions, other than if this was about the troubles.

The most complicated part would be Harry summoning a patronus other than his own. Just to be sure, he reviewed the process again. Summoning his own patronus was easy, Harry thought. It was a complicated charm, but it was a charm nevertheless. Summoning George's involved a complicated ritual.

"Here, I've got his blood," Hermione held out a sharp pin.

Harry put it in the teakettle they were using to initially hold the patronus — it was black and white and decorated with what looked to be a haunted wood. A little creepy, but the other choices they'd had were somehow worse.

"So we've got the container, we've got the blood as a focus, now we just need..." Harry tipped his wand toward his head. It was the holly-and-phoenix wand. It seemed more appropriate than the other. Like the patronus charm, this ritual required a powerful, happy memory. Unlike the normal charm, this required a powerful memory shared between Harry and George. "Are you sure you don't want to do this?" he looked from Ginny to Ron.

"I just think you'd be more successful," Ginny said. Ron shrugged.

Harry closed his eyes. He'd already chosen his memory: the night George and the others had helped him escape the Dursleys. George had taken Polyjuice potion to look like Harry, at great personal risk to himself. It was not precisely a happy memory, but a triumphant one. He placed it in the teakettle.

Harry started the chant, feeling slightly self-conscious as he did so. Everyone stared at him, even George, lying immobile on the floor. His face heated, and he fumbled the Latin. Finally, he closed his eyes and pretended he was alone in the room. This time the chant went smoothly. He ignored Hermione's gasp, and George's strangled moan. There was a crystalline quality to the air now, and the hair on the back of Harry's neck prickled. It was working, he could feel it.

He spoke the last word, and opened his eyes. A purpley-silver mist hung in the air, and was swiftly disappearing. There was some sort of dome over Harry... he stared at it, mystified. It had worked.

He opened the lid of the teakettle and found George's patronus. It was a coyote, and it lay as though asleep. Did patronuses sleep? Harry thought uncertainly. It seemed to have restless dreams... its legs twitched, and purple bruises appeared here and there, as though the coyote were being beaten and kicked as Harry watched. It made him sick to his stomach.

"All right," he said. "Let's try to heal it."

Over the next two hours, they tried everything. They couldn't have the patronus drink potions — it was corporeal, but not alive. Instead, they heated the potions and steeped the patronus in it. "It's our best idea," Hermione'd said. The Essence of Dittany worked the best: for an entire minute, all the bruises had disappeared. But then, one by one, they'd returned.

The last thing they tried was Ginny's idea: Laughing Potion. "It's sort of a last resort," she'd said yesterday, "but it works on boggarts and a couple other amortals, so we should at least try."

To Harry's immense surprise, this worked. The bruises evaporated from the sleeping coyote as though they had never been. It lolled back in its sleep and fully relaxed.

Ron went over to George, and broke the the spell. Everyone stared at him as he rolled over, and took in huge gulps of air.

"What... the... eff... is going on?" he said.

"We, uh—"

George grabbed his head. "Why does everyone hate Harry, what's done this, for Merlin's sake?"

"Oh thank God," Ginny said fervently. "George — something's happened to everyone's patronuses — we're trying to figure this out. We're going to break it—"

"We might have just done so," Harry pointed out.

"Harry, I'm sorry," George said, looking straight at him. His eyes were clear.

"It's not your fault," said Harry. He grinned. "I'm just glad it worked!"

"So what's—"

But George grabbed his head again with a sharp cry. "What's that  _effing music?_ " It came out like a sob.

"What, there's no music!" said Ron.

"Don't call me a liar!" shouted George.

With trepidation riding him, Harry hurried over to the teakettle and looked in... the coyote was no longer peaceful, but writhed at the bottom. A purple mist coiled around it. It tightened, and the patronus opened its mouth and panted with pain.

"Immobilize him!" Harry shouted.

With George once more laying on the floor, unable to move, and his coyote resting within him and not the teakettle, Harry and the others cleaned up in near total silence. Harry's mind was racing. The Laughter Potion had worked, briefly, that had given him cause to hope. Perhaps the solution would be... something to do with laughter.

"So it looks like the amortal that's causing this is a boggart," said Ron. He sounded almost cheerful.

"Thank God," said Ginny. "Figuring out how to break a boggart curse will be bad enough. Imagine a Dementor. Or, God forbid, a banshee." She shivered.

"Seamus's boggart turned into a banshee, remember?" Harry asked Ron and Hermione. "I didn't get it."

Ginny grinned up at him. "Well, of course you don't. Why would the Master of Death be afraid of the Harbinger?" she teased.

Harry's cheeks flushed. "I don't — I'm not — Merlin, don't call me that, Ginny."

"I thought you liked it when I called you that in bed." Ginny widened her eyes at him.

"I don't!" Harry said in feigned outrage. "Okay, but I really don't. Master of Death... makes me sound like a prat."

"We'll engrave a badge for you," said Ron.

They laughed.

Harry expected they would need a lot of laughter in the days and possibly weeks to come. He thought of Lupin, then, and missed him. The old wolf would know what to do, Harry was sure. Instead, they had to do it themselves.


	16. Unexpected Help

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

UNEXPECTED HELP

The success they'd had at momentarily abating George's curse was invigorating, and they began studying with renewed fervor. "I've got new books coming in from India," Hermione told them a few days after they celebrated the New Year. "I think I can use a charm to translate the Urdu... but India and Uzbekistan have folklore surrounding the patronus, so I was hoping we could find something in there." Meanwhile, Ginny was studying every bit on amortality that she could.

For an entire month they kept up a grueling pace, until Harry really did feel like they were back at Hogwarts, preparing for their NEWTs. Why else did he have to research so much complicated magic? It wasn't just patronuses and boggarts, of course. It turned out that patronuses were connected to all sorts of different disciplines. Surely... surely nothing the professors could have thrown at him in seventh year would have been as damn difficult. And the stakes would not have been nearly as high.

It was Ginny who kept him going. Neither one of them were particularly suited to scholarly pursuits; both of them would much rather be in action. But they kept each other at it, discussed their research together, and Harry wound up learning more about Care of Magical Creatures in a month than he had in a year of Hagrid's teaching. They did all their studying together.

Among other things.

Harry tilted his head back on the sofa during a much needed study break. Ginny was kissing him, and it was blissful to the point of near pain. His hands were in his lap, massaging her scalp. Dimly, he thought he might have heard the door open and close, but he ignored this. She was the only real thing in the world, Ginny was...

Later, Hermione came in holding a rather long scroll. Ron followed her, looking serious. Harry's shoulders slumped. His eyes were bleary, and his brain felt numb. If she had more research for them to do right at this moment, Harry felt on the verge of a Dudley-sized tantrum.

He forced those feelings to the side.  _I can always rest later,_ he told himself.

"—got the idea from the Marauder's Map," Hermione was saying.

Harry jerked to attention at that. "What about the map?"

"I've made a map of Grimmauld Place," said Hermione.

"Why?" he asked blankly. "There's only us four here."

"This is a special map," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "It'll show when the room is occupied, and by whom. That way we can be... extra careful when we walk in."

Ginny chuckled. "You made a sex map."

Hermione's cheeks turned faintly pink. "I feel like — we have all — oh, damn. We get caught up in the moment, and I just want to avoid any more... incidents."

It turned out to be a very good idea, at least in Harry's estimation. They no longer had to stay in their room; they could let a whim take them where they were, and enjoy themselves. There were a lot of whims. And so it was that January turned to February without a lot of fanfare.

"Lee Jordan wants you to go on Potterwatch," Ron said during breakfast one snowy morning. "Says people are clamoring to know the whole deal."

Harry sat back and chewed his toast.

"Really?" he said, once he'd swallowed. They were eating in the den rather than the basement, and he looked out the window. Snow was falling hard, and Harry did not particularly want to go out into the weather. Not when they had done so much work in the cellar to make it look (and smell) like an expanse of outdoors set in a permanent sort of spring-time.

"He says we can do it from here," said Ron. "Ever since we were accosted by Mum, he's been working out how to do that. I just have to go get the magical transmitter."

"Define everything," said Harry.

"Voldemort, the Horcruxes, and everything," Ron leaned back in his chair. "Luna's editorial for Quibbler mostly makes her sound like a lunatic, but also threw a bunch of weird information out there. Twisted half-truths. People have a lot of questions."

Harry sighed, then nodded. As much as he wanted to bunker down and figure everything out, he knew he couldn't just ignore the entire world. "All right," he said finally.

The next night, everyone gathered in the library. Ron had set up all the equipment to Lee's specifications, and was just adjusting the antenna, when something started to ping. "That'll be Lee," said Ron. "He's going to do the introduction. We're all to sit here quietly."

Harry fidgeted as Lee's voice boomed out, unnaturally loud. Ginny squeezed his hand.

"We're here with the man himself, Harry Potter!" Lee's voice rang in his ears.

"Erm, hi," said Harry.

"Harry's agreed to tell us everything... the stuff the Quibbler hinted at and anything else we want to know. Harry, just fly right in."

Harry paused for a few moments to gather his thought. He looked from Ginny to Ron to Hermione. It helped that it seemed he was speaking only to them. "It all started when Dumbledore heard a prophecy from Professor Trelawney, which led to Voldemort killing my parents, and trying to kill me. The night he gave me this scar, a part of his soul — yes, his actual, literal soul — split off from the rest, and sort of... resided there."

"So what the Quibbler said was true. You  _were_ possessed by Voldemort." Lee sounded sickly fascinated.

"No, not — not really," said Harry.

"Not like I was back when I was the Heir of Slytherin," said Ginny. "Harry's never had blank spots in his memory, or been forced to do things. It was more like a parasitic growth."

"Horcruxes are some very complex magic," said Hermione. She proceeded to give a rundown of most of what they knew about them in general. "It is an awful way to rip yourself asunder," Hermione said quietly. "And for what? There is no record of anyone who has made a Horcrux ever becoming actually immortal. Most die terrible deaths, with a worse half-life to come."

"So Voldemort made a bunch of these," said Ron. "Dumbledore had it confirmed that he'd made one when the diary that possessed my sister was tossed on his desk by Harry. Then, he figured, why would Voldemort have treated it so casually if it housed part of his soul? So that got him on the 'multiple Horcruxes' theory."

"That, and he always knew I was one, I think," Harry interjected.

"Dumbledore—"

But Ginny cut over Lee's question. "That's true. Probably as soon as he saw you."

"Or at least when he found out I spoke Parseltongue," said Harry.

"Oh, who knows," said Ron.

"The point is that Voldemort made several." He listed them off quickly. "So before Voldemort could even be defeated — fully defeated, I dunno what would have happened if he died again with another Horcrux still out there. Probably gone off to Albania."

"So those three spent last year hunting them down," Ginny said. "That's what was with the dragon and Gringotts. And why they came to Hogwarts that night — it was in the Room of Requirement, Lee, remember where we used to meet for Dumbledore's Army?"

"Yes... yes, of course... I'm still in... shock that Harry was a Horcrux. And you said in order to be destroyed, the vessel had to be destroyed beyond magical repair?"

"That was five minutes ago, Lee, try to keep up," Ron said cheerfully.

"So we got all but one of the Horcruxes destroyed," said Harry. "Then... we tried to get to Nagini, and we were there when Severus Snape died. He saw us, and we ended up being able to extract some memories."

"It was then that Harry found out about being a Horcrux. It isn't like the Quibbler said. And Harry wasn't dragged out and forced to do it, he did it willingly. He meant to sacrifice himself for us, so that we could all go free." There were blazes if color in Ginny's cheeks. "It wasn't some fluke that he survived. He survived as a baby because his mother died for him. And he survived as a man because he tried to do the same for us. And I — I am  _so grateful_ that Voldemort's idiocy led to him destroying his own Horcrux, instead of destroying Harry."

Lee was choking. "You know, you alluded to some of this when you were facing off with him, but... Blimey, Harry. I think I can speak for all of us when I say thank you."

"I had a lot of help," said Harry. "I didn't read the article, but they did get that right. Ron and Hermione had to basically carry me some of the time on the Horcrux hunt."

"I don't understand why... some people—"

"It's a curse," Hermione said. "All of our cards are on the table, Lee. We aren't holding anything back. The Minister. George and the other Weasleys — excepting Ron and Ginny — and some other allies — and even an enemy — were cursed some time after the Battle. We don't know the specific time it occurred, but we do know some things..." Hermione and Ron took over telling the rest of the story, and invited help from anyone listening.

"The truth is that we've narrowed it down to some sort of curse that had to do with a boggart, but damned if we can figure out how it was done. If any of you know  _any_ thing..."

Harry finished Hermione's sentence: "We would appreciate any and all help, frankly."

"Well," said Lee. "Well. I don't think I speak for myself when I say that really... any help we can give, mate. We'll help you figure this out."

A few warm exchanges occurred before they signed off, and when they finally did, Harry sat back with a sigh. "That was more involved than I thought it was going to be," he said ruefully.

Ginny ruffled his hair. "I want the whole wizarding world to be as proud of you as I am," she said.

Ron batted his eyelashes at Harry, pursed his lips, and said: "My hero..."

Harry sent him a Stinging Hex.

Hermione broke out some elf made wine, and poured them all a glass. Telling the story to Lee had taken some of the tension Harry had not even known existed out of the room. It had not been like this when he had told his story over and over again to the Auror interrogating him on the Minister's orders. A part of him had wanted to keep everything secret — and he still held back the Hallows — but it felt right, now, to have told.

It felt right.

The second week of February, Harry was in the library, reading  _Amortality: An Understanding_ for the third time. He'd already read the chapter on boggarts, and was reading about Dementors:

 _There have been accounts of Dementors since the early ages of the Roman Empire, but it is speculated that there were fewer of them — Catullus Pax says in his_ Rome: A Magical History _that the Roman witches and wizards believed the Dementor to be the servant of the gods Phobos and Deimos. He points out that most people believed it to be a singular entity. In fact, it was not until Azkaban was discovered several centuries ago that the wizarding community realized that Dementors are not nearly as rare as previously believed, but can even multiply._

Harry thought it sounded much simpler in Ancient Rome — imagine thinking Dementors a singular entity. His third year at school might have gone very differently... he may not have had to go before the Wizengamot in his fifth year... He daydreamed about that for a while, until his introspection was interrupted by a tap at the window. A magnificent, haughty-looking owl glared at him with beady eyes. It held an envelope in its talons. Harry opened the window and eyed it warily. Whatever it was, it was very heavy. Harry opened it, to find another envelope and a piece of tissue paper.

_Potter,_

_I have information. Name a time and place of your choosing._

_Lucius Malfoy_

Harry rounded up Ginny, Ron, and Hermione. "Bloody toff," Ron shook his head. "Looks like he's sending us a wedding invitation."

"Think it's another trap, like Alecto?" Harry asked. He felt a little uncertain. His instincts were telling him that it was not a trap, but damned if he knew why. Perhaps because the last he'd seen him, they'd had a tentative truce? Perhaps because his wife had saved Harry's life?

"I dunno," said Ron.

"Possibly," said Hermione.

Ginny looked thoughtful and conflicted. Harry had a pretty good idea why: it was Lucius Malfoy who had slipped her the Horcrux... but his very proximity to Voldemort leant credibility to his claim that he had information. She sighed, and he nodded: "All right. Where should we meet him?"

Ron argued long and hard for making Lucius Malfoy meet him in Hagrid's hut. "It's private, it's smelly, and it will drive him mental," he listed all the ways Hagrid's hut was perfect. "Imagine Lucius Malfoy conducting a meeting there! It's brilliant!"

In the end, they decided the Hog's Head would be the safest bet.

"You sure you want to meet him?" Aberforth grunted when they told him. But Hermione'd insisted on placing a few key wards that would neutralize a lot of what Lucius could throw at them. "I just don't know if I've thought of everything," she said anxiously.

"You've thought of what you can," Ron said soothingly.

They'd almost decided to have one of them sit under the Cloak just in case Lucius Malfoy tried anything, but changed their minds in the end.

"All right, let's tell him," said Harry, once they started repeating their earlier security precautions. He brought his wand to his lips, and spoke the spell that would send a message along with his patronus. "Hog's Head. Ten minutes."

It only took Malfoy seven minutes. He sloped in, looking as well kept as he had before Voldemort had begun punishing him. His white-blonde hair was in its customary tail, and his walking stick tap-tap-tapped on the dusty barroom floor. His mouth was curled in distaste.

"It will mean nothing to you," he sneered, "but you do have my word there will be no duel with me tonight."

"Yeah, we have the word of a Death Eater," Ron said sarcastically. "We can take that right to Gringott's."

Harry believed him. He might have been better off than he was when Voldemort was his lord, but the despair in the man's eyes was still there. "All right. Don't provoke us, and we won't provoke you."

"As it happens, I heard what you said about the curse that has befallen your friends and allies," Malfoy said stiffly. "No, I do not listen to  _Potterwatch"—_ he spat the word with contempt—"but you know how word spreads in our community. And I can tell you exactly when the curse was unleashed. Narcissa and I arrived home at Malfoy Manor—"

"She took you Side-Along, did she?" Hermione asked coldly. "Since you didn't have your wand?"

Malfoy breathed out through his nose. "We arrived home after she Apparated us both," he said through gritted teeth. "You are correct. I had a new wand made the next day. We arrived at precisely 10:53, as I happened to glance at our clock. Draco arrived not two minutes after us."

Harry raised his eyebrows.

"How does that help—" Ginny said exasperatedly.

"It helps, you stupid little Weasley, because—"

"That's Mrs. Potter to you," Harry said coldly. He had the pleasure of watching Malfoy's eyebrows fly up toward his receding hairline.

" _Mrs._ Potter?"

"It's none of your business, Malfoy, but we're all married now," Ron said. "Well, just me to Hermione, and Ginny to Harry."

"I'm sure he doesn't need that clarified, Ron," Hermione said, exasperated. "You're the only one who thought it needed to be all four of us."

Malfoy was watching them with faint hints of disgust, contempt, and condescension.

This made Harry defensive. "We love each other. And we needed to stop Mrs. Weasley tracking us with Remus Lupin's charms."

Malfoy rolled his eyes so hard, Harry thought he was having a seizure. " _Teenagers_ ," he said with great contempt. "Anyway, as I was saying, I know precisely what time the curse was unleashed because my wife and I remain ourselves. And Draco is cursed."

There was a long, shocked silence.

"Yes, Draco, your old school chum," Malfoy bared his teeth. "He will go the way of Alecto, if you don't find the way to stop it. So yes, I will help in any way that I can."

"What makes you think we'd help Draco?" Ron said heatedly.

"Oh, Lucius Malfoy knows we won't let Draco die like that," Harry said quietly, watching Malfoy's face. "We aren't like Voldemort, who would let his own followers die painfully unleashing a curse he created. You know, Amycus unleashed it, whatever it was. It killed him immediately. Voldemort gave instructions like that to one of his most loyal followers — he, the warped shell of a man who murdered people and split his own soul because he feared death, had absolutely no care that anyone else died. Tell me, Lucius. Do you wish he'd won?"

Malfoy stared at him for a second, then: "No."

"So tell me what you know," said Harry.

"I know two specific things that you will find useful," said Lucius. "One: the curse is two-fold. Two: it is not a boggart. I know only vaguely what the Dark Lord was doing whilst he was performing his experiments upon amortals. But I do know that boggarts are not strong enough to be tortured — yes, tortured. If a curse is made from an entity, it is through torture that it is gained. They would just dissipate. You are looking for some other type of amortal — do not ask me which, for I do not know. My suspicion would be Dementor. They have the resilience that boggarts do not. And we all know how friendly the Dark Lord was with Dementors."

"What about the two-fold aspect of it?"

Hermione asked, troubled.

"Amortals are too different from us to have much effect in and of themselves — they can suck out someone soul, but try to unspool a Dementor, and use it to power a curse? Nearly impossible. It is too alien. So what you have to do is  _bind_ it with something else, as several wizards have found over the centuries. You have an amortal and some other creature bound and tortured together to create this curse. I promise you this. It would not be nearly as powerful, nor as deadly otherwise." He stood abruptly, and leaned on his walking stick. "This is all I know. Bella would have known more, but alas." He pinned a stare on Harry. "Perhaps you ought to pay a visit to her vault again. I know she kept many things in there that the Dark Lord gave her. A great many things."

He strolled out the door, then, tapping his cane, and swirling his cloak. Harry watched him go, troubled and hopeful all at once.

"If a curse is made from an entity, it is through torture that it is gained," Ron repeated mockingly. "You know, he's not all bad. We should start inviting him to all of our parties."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I keep forgetting to update this here! I primarily post on fanfiction.net


	17. Dark Plans

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

In the elation of having a place to go instead of research to do, Harry and the others forgot one small complication: Bill Weasley worked at Gringotts. Ron led the way up Diagon Alley, long legs eating up more ground than the others could, a smile on his face. Not even seeing the remarkably uncheerful storefront of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes dimmed their excitement. Hermione was practically skipping.

So it was that when Bill Weasley stepped out between two crooked pillars at the entrance to Gringotts, eyes on Harry, and wand drawn, it came as a dash of cold water.

And a burst of pain.

Bill swiped his wand, and Harry's arm burned as though suddenly set on fire. A great gouge appeared in his arm. Not a small cut. A chunk of his flesh was missing. It started to fountain blood.

"NO!" Ginny shouted.

Harry whirled, and pulled up a shield. A jet of red light barely missed him, slammed into the pillar behind him, and blew a smoking hole into it.

Ron disarmed his brother from behind, and wrapped him in what looked like leafy ropes. "What — the — bloody — hell."

Bill struggled against the ropes, glaring at Harry with a ghastly malevolence. "How dare you say we're cursed," he spat. "How dare you stand there with my brother and sister and make them think that  _we're_ the ones who are cursed, when we know the truth: You're the one who is cursed. You've  _always_ been a curse." His lip curled. "My sister has already had enough to do with Voldemort. You  _kissed_ her with Voldemort's Horcrux in you. Did he make you do it? You must've been indulging in some pretty sick fantasies."

Harry felt cold, hot, and sick to his stomach. He could only stare at Bill. Did he have a point? "You're — that's not—"

Ginny glided in front of him, angrier than he had ever seen her. "How dare you," she said coldly. "How _dare_ you say such a thing."

Bill struggled against his bonds, managed to get his wand arm free, and slashed through the leafy ropes so quickly, Harry nearly didn't dive to the side in time. Ron shouted something, but Bill swatted him away with a gesture that was almost careless.

Then he stalked Harry through Diagon Alley. Harry sent up shield charm after shield charm, blocking curses and hexes. He had brought the Elder Wand today, not wanting to be without in case there was trouble in Bellatrix Lestrange's vault. How, then, could he use it to duel with Bill? Bill, who had been his friend once, before he'd been cursed?

Bill, who was now trying to hurt Harry. Possibly even kill him. Bystanders were gaping as Harry scrambled away, trying to come up with a plan that did not involve either one of them hurt.

He ducked behind a wand peddler, and between two large potted plants. Just in time:

"YOU MADE US LOVE YOU!" Bill shouted. He sounded quite deranged. " _You had Voldemort in you — corrupted my brother — my sister—"_

His voice cut off with a garbled cry.

"That's enough, Bill," said a cold voice.

A woman about Bill's age stepped out of the shadows, holding a wand aloft, and wearing faded leather curse-breaker robes that matched Bill's, and a cold, cold smile.

Bill actually paled.

"Oh, this is going to be wonderful," breathed Ginny, sliding in next to him.

Harry gaped at her. "Wonderful?"

"Yes, that's Eleison Clowder," Ginny said.

"An old enemy of Bill's?" Harry guessed.

"Old friend," corrected Ginny. "She was in Slytherin, and Bill was in Gryffindor, but they all ran around together: her and Bill, Tulip Karasu and Tonks, and Rowan Khanna." Harry wondered if Bill's old Hogwarts crowd had deliberately infiltrated nearly every aspect of the wizarding world.

He watched, eyes round, as the two old friends began to duel each other.

"I think they might even have been lovers," Ginny said thoughtfully.

If they had been, they were not at all loving toward each other now. Bill and Eleison sent jets of red light at one another with a speed that made Harry almost dizzy. He'd not learned to truly duel like that, and even though part of him was terrified, his brain was cataloguing every move they made. It was nearly a dance.

Bill miscalculated a step by a very thin margin, and then Eleison swept in and knocked him off his feet.

"I have  _always_ wanted to do that!" Eleison cried, exhilarated. She hurried over to Bill, grabbed his wand from his violently trembling fingers, and used magic to put him to sleep. She cast an amused look at Ginny. "I heard he's been making an arse of himself... Tulip says he's been raving for the last week. I'm going to try to fix that."

"Where are you taking him?" Ginny asked.

Eleison's grin widened, and Harry was forcibly reminded of a large jungle cat. "I'm taking him to Rowan."

Ginny laughed.

Harry did not particularly want to know why.

"I remember the summer Bill and Charlie brought their friends home for a visit," Ginny said softly, as Eleison very ungently prepared to transport Bill. "She and Rowan were in Slytherin, but I thought they were the height of cool. Ron was  _terrified_ of—"

Ron ambled into view. "Well, yeah, who wouldn't be? Eleison's terrifying, and Rowan isn't much better. Bill almost deserves what's coming to him..." He glanced at Harry. "All right, mate?"

Harry had quite forgotten that he was still bleeding steadily. He felt suddenly light-headed and dizzy.

"That's a no, then?" Ron said.

"Here, let us help," said a deep, croaky voice.

Harry woke up some time later in a small, elaborately furnished office. A goblin stood in front of him, staring at him. "You lost a lot of blood," she said. "We did the healing songs. You are well now." Then she touched two fingers to her brow, and drew them across her forehead.

And then she walked out.

"Erm," said Harry.

There was a flurry of movement at the corner of his eye, and Ginny buried her head against his no-longer-wounded shoulder. "You're okay," she said in a muffled voice.

"Where am I?"

"Deep in Gringotts," said Hermione.

Harry should have guessed that, considering the goblin. He looked down at his shoulder; his shirt was torn and bloody, but the skin was healed.

"Mr. Potter."

A goblin stood in the arched doorway. From previous visits, Harry knew this to be the head goblin, in whose office they must be in. This was quite a departure from the treatment they'd received the last time they'd come in.

Harry hoped this meant they'd been forgiven for the dragon.

"Mr. er—"

"Gormandred."

"Mr. Gormandred. Thank you for having me healed."

"It was our curse-breaker who injured you."

"Erm, he wasn't — in his right mind," said Harry.

"So I have come to understand."

The head goblin studied Harry, who felt increasingly uncomfortable. It had been like this with Dumbledore: he'd felt layers of thoughts being peeled back, until he was totally exposed. Then Gormandred broke contact, to call down the hall for someone.

"I presume you came to Gringotts today for business," he said.

"Yes," said Harry.

"I will personally take you to your vault."

Harry sensed this was not something Gormandred stooped to very often. "Er, thank you, that's — that's quite an honor, Mr. Gormandred."

Gormandred looked at him. "The honor is mine, Mr. Potter," he said quietly.

Ron nudged him as they left the lavishly appointed office. "Looks like Ginny's got company in your fan club," he said in a loud whisper that Harry fervently hoped went unheard by Gormandred. Harry wondered what had changed, and supposed it must have been the interview with Potterwatch.

Whatever it was, he was grateful to stand outside Bellatrix Lestrange's vault — now his, he supposed.

Hermione began unpacking Moody's old curse detectors. "Just in case," she told Gormandred, who nodded.

Harry felt a great sense of caution — even apprehension — as the head goblin slowly opened the vault. He vividly remembered the last time they'd been here, and somehow this time their purpose here seemed darker. Last time, it had been only about the Horcrux. This time, they were to probe everything. Frankly, Harry did not want to know Bellatrix Lestrange any better than he already did. Hermione performed a charm on all of their hands. They seemed to glow with a pearly white sheen.

"Just in case we touch something we shouldn't," she said. "This should help."

They all took a deep breath, and plunged into the vault.

The time of day had no real meaning this far below the ground. All light was artificial, anyway. Harry did not look at his watch, but as they slowly and thoroughly searched it, he suspected hours and hours passed. Several times, he was grateful for his magically protected hands. "Thanks, Hermione," he said gratefully, once a cranky pincushion had shot all its pins at him. They bounced right off his hands.

Ginny and Ron also had cause to thank Hermione over the next several hours, and Harry had to force his worry for Ginny aside. She would  _not_ appreciate it.

"I think I've found something," Ron said. Harry was bleary-eyed with exhaustion at this point, and it took him a few moments to process what Ron had said.

"What is it?" Hermione asked after a tired pause.

"Books. Diaries, I mean. And I'm pretty sure Voldemort wrote it."

They all crowded around him. Ron held three separate diaries in his hand. They were all fairly old. One was so old the cover looked on the verge of disintegration, though not nearly as old as the Horcrux diary... the others were slightly newer. The newest one was a faded black, and had fang marks in it, as though Nagini had pulled it out of her master's hand in a bid for attention...

"Ugh, I hate Voldemort's diaries," said Ginny.

They all chuckled a dark little chuckle.

"I'd say we should keep searching, but honestly, I'm knackered," said Hermione.

"I think we all are."

They straggled back to the surface, and bid a goodbye to Gormandred. Harry was astonished to go outside, and find dawn breaking over Diagon Alley. He knew Bellatrix's wealth had been immense, but he hadn't thought it would take them nearly eighteen hours to search less than three quarters of her vault. Fresh snow had fallen, and they used magic to clear it from their path, leaving four small footpaths that must look like slug trails.

It was a relief to return to Grimmauld Place.

It was decided then that they would drink Wideye Potion and continue onward. The potion fizzled and bubbled in Harry's veins, turning a sleepy body into one that was so wide awake, it felt like he'd just had the best sleep of his life.

Hermione gave him a warning look as he beamed. "Don't start taking it every day, it's addictive."

Harry rolled his eyes.

There were three journals and four of them, so while Harry, Ginny, and Hermione cracked open the spines and set to work, Ron went down to the kitchen to make breakfast for all of them.

They'd chosen the journals randomly: Ginny ended up with the newest, the one with the fang marks, Hermione the oldest, and Harry the one in the middle. The first page had what looked to be a list of potion ingredients, and a question mark. Harry's heart sank as he flipped the pages. He had been expecting something more along the lines of the Horcrux diary, had been thinking Voldemort would gloat about his achievements: " _Dear diary, today I, Lord Voldemort, did —- and —- and created a truly genius spell that will not only turn Potter's friends against him, but will eventually kill them. I am a genius. I hope they never find out that all you have to do is —- to reverse it."_ Harry's shoulders slumped, but he kept onward.

"Ugh," Ginny said a little while later. Disgust saturated her tone. "Ugh."

Harry looked up.

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

Ginny stared at the journal in her hand, revolted. "It's how he came back. You know, in the graveyard. Oh God. Nagini was a witch!"

"What?" Harry said sharply. "Nagini was an animagus?"

"No... a Maledictus," she said.

"What is that?" Hermione asked. "I've seen that word before..."

"They're cursed," Ron said, appearing at the doorway with a tray piled high with food Harry no longer wanted to eat. "It's a blood curse, so it follows the family line. Nagini was a Maledictus? Really?"

Ginny looked ill at the thought.

Ron sat down and grabbed a meat pasty. "I was never really sure if those were real. I thought it was something Bill and Charlie used to scare me with. But a Maledictus is cursed to transform into some sort of beast. Eventually, they lose the ability to turn back into a human."

"Yes, and it looks like... it looks like she  _birthed_ Voldemort somehow. He... possessed... Wormtail while Wormtail had — erm — relations with Nagini, and then entered Nagini at climax, and... impregnated her with himself."

Harry was nearly sick to his stomach.

"Here, I'll read it," Ginny said. " _Severus's foolish behavior led the Potters into hiding. The Order knows nothing of my preparations. Nagini is willing to host and rebirth should any of Dumbledore's plans come to fruition. My Death Eaters have been given instruction to come find me should they hear rumors of my death."_ She looked up. "Then he describes the ritual that would put him back in a rudimentary body — Harry, didn't you say he was weak... almost childlike before the graveyard?"

"Yes," said Harry. "Now it makes sense."

"The rest is a list." Ginny held out the journal so Harry could read it for himself.

_Maledictus._

_Coitus. Nagini must be prepared._

_Stimulation potion_

_Full moon necessary?_

_Must climax — Imperius?_

Ron chewed loudly. "What?" he said, when everyone stared at him. "I'm hungry!"

"So that's why he didn't look much like a man anymore!" said Hermione in a hushed tone.

"Right. He took some characteristics from his new mum," said Hermione.

Harry groaned, remembering a conversation he'd dreamed about once. "He made Wormtail milk Nagini. She was breast-feeding him her venom."

"So gross," Ron said around a mouthful of food.

Harry returned to his own journal, but thoughts of Wormtail having sex with a snake kept intruding. Had Dumbledore known? Had he guessed? Harry thought it likely, and was glad he'd been spared those details at the age of fourteen. Wormtail. Having sex with a snake, and instead of the normal issue coming out, it was Voldemort. He wished he didn't have to know this. So distracted was he that when he found a rather unusual drawing in the center of the book, he stared at it for quite a while, unable to place what it was.

Then it hit him. "Is this Azkaban?" He asked. It was finely detailed: a jutting fortress atop an island in a surging sea. It looked so lifelike that Harry did not think Voldemort could possibly have drawn it.

"Yeah, looks like it," said Ginny, peering over his shoulder. Harry flipped the page, and exclaimed. "Ekizdris! How do I know that name?"

"He was the one who created Azkaban," said Hermione.

"Voldemort thinks he created Dementors as well," said Harry, reading a passage in the diary several times. "See? ' _Ekizdris's experiments with the creation of amortal beings prove that amortality can be achieved,'"_ he read.

"But there were Dementors before Ekizdris's time," said Hermione.

"But didn't that amortality book say there were far fewer of them?" Ginny put in. She grimaced. "What if they used to happen naturally, like most amortals, but then Ekizdris figured out how to create them?"

Harry scratched at his scar. "I reckon Voldemort would be interested in that sort of thing." He flipped through more pages, then flipped back. A frown creased his brow.

"Look," he said. "There's a definite difference here. Look at how he's talking about the Dementors here, but then look at it  _here."_ He read out loud again: "'How does a mortal man create a Dementor?', Voldemort asks. Then: 'Ekizdris did not completely understand the implications of his own experiments.'" He looked at them. "He must've found out what Ekizdris was working on... something to do with the Dementors." He followed an instinct and flipped back to the astonishingly lifelike drawing of Azkaban. He tapped it with his wand and said: " _Revelio._ "

A miniature version of Azkaban sprang out of the book, and spun in the air before them, growing larger and larger, until it took up nearly half the room. Harry waved his hand at it: it was insubstantial, made of something like clouds or smoke, but so detailed Harry felt he was there. A small figure appeared beside the model. It had a Dementor draped in silvery chains, and was dragging it into the fortress. Then that same figure led people in twos and threes to the same spot.

Harry felt a twinge of horror.

The horror did not abate when bodies wrapped in sheets were tumbled from the top of the fortress into the churning sea. Had Ekizdris been  _feeding_ people to Dementors? But didn't Dementors eat souls?

Then — something happened. The model slowly revolved, and then — it darkened as though a shadow fell upon it, and Dementors poured out of it as though being called to battle... they congealed together as Harry had seen them do in the Forbidden Forest, and for a split second a terrible, terrible face appeared in the sky above them—

Then everything went back to the beginning, with the figure of Ekizdris leading a single Dementor into Azkaban.

"I don't understand," Hermione said in a small voice. "What's Voldemort interested in here?"

Harry rubbed his eyes. "So Ekizdris did figure out a way to create Dementors? Is that what we saw? Maybe he fed all those people we saw to that one Dementor, and it got so full it just started multiplying?"

"But he'd already made Horcruxes by this time," Hermione said, frustrated. "Why was he so caught on whatever — whatever Ekizdris was going?"

"Oh, who knows, with that git?" Ron said derisively.

"Well, remember he kept looking for other ways to be immortal," said Harry. "Dumbledore said a long time ago that he didn't want to be dependent on an object like — like the Philosopher's Stone. I bet he'd want to find a way to make himself truly immortal."

Hermione snarled, and spoke the sort of filthy phrase Harry would've expected from Ron.

Ron patted her hand.

"And knowing Ekizdris figured out a way to create an amortal sort of changes it, doesn't it?" Harry asked. "If amortality can be created, Voldemort would want to know how, to see if he could apply it to himself."

They all groaned.

"Well," said Ginny. "Anyone else feel like maybe we ought to go to Azkaban?"

Harry wanted to say no, of course he didn't think they ought to go to Azkaban. That it would be insane of them to try to find a tiny, protected island in the middle of the North Sea. That it would likely be a fool's errand, and wouldn't lead them any closer to the information they needed to break the curse. But too much added up: the Dementors of Azkaban acting strange, the shadowy patronuses, Voldemort's preoccupation with Ekizdris...

"Yeah, I think we should," Harry said glumly.


	18. Flight to Azkaban

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

FLIGHT TO AZKABAN

Hermione began to list all of the complications, when Ginny cut right through them: "I know who we can ask to help us. And we probably ought to contact them anyway, just to make sure they haven't hurt Bill."

Ron groaned.

"Oh, come off it," said Ginny, exasperated. "If there's anyone who can get us to Azkaban, it's Tulip."

"Tulip?" Harry said uncertainly. Auror Karasu had helped him out during his brief, miserable time as a probationary trainee. She'd seemed a little meek… although he supposed she had been fired for her time on Potterwatch. "Isn't she a little… timid?"

Ron and Ginny laughed.

"Tulip was the one who taught the twins how to make as much mischief as they could," said Ginny.

Harry was still dubious, even when all the arrangements had been made, all the owls had been sent, and they'd received word as to where they were going to meet. He supposed they might try Ginny's idea first, and then figure out how they would get to Azkaban… honestly, Harry wasn't in a hurry to get there. Even the thought of setting foot there filled him with dread.

They Apparated to the heart of a forest, where a tiny cabin was suspended in the trees. It was clearly a magical place: bowtruckles climbed all over it, and night-blooming flowers grew so large, their buds were nearly the size of Harry's head. He supposed they didn't have to worry about Muggles. Or anyone else visiting, since there didn't seem to be any way for them to reach the door.

"We're here!" Ginny called.

A rope ladder unfurled and dropped down. Ginny started up first, Harry was right behind her.

Rowan Khanna opened the door with a serious expression on her face. "Come in," she said. "We still have Bill," she told Ginny. "But we've tried everything… we're going to have to bring him back to Fleur."

Ginny sighed. "You and Eleison—"

"We've tried. We managed to get him lucid with the laughter draught, like you suggested, but that faded fast."

"And when we tried to give it to him again, the results were… unpleasant." Eleison strode into the room. She threw her wand on the couch. "I'm sorry, Ginny, Ron," she said. "I've heard about curses that affect the patronus, and I've even broken one that had to do with an amortal. But I'm at a loss, here." She spread her hands in a placating gesture. "I do have some good news. I'm not entirely positive – I'm waiting on a few more tests, and for a Greek wizard to get back to me – but I am pretty sure that the second part of the curse is a siren. It's the song that Bill keeps singing or humming. It's stuck in his head. I am fairly sure that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named bound an amortal and a siren together to create this curse. There's nothing quite like a siren's song, you see. You can't forget it. You can't obliviate it."

Harry's mouth had fallen open. They'd learned about sirens, of course; Harry even vaguely remembered hearing about them even in the Muggle world. "So… they've got a bit of siren song in them? That's the bridge between them and the amortal?"

"I'm sorry, Harry," she said. "This makes it a powerful curse… not even taking into account the amortal."

"Using the voice of a siren is banned in most of the countries around the Mediterranean," said Rowan, taking on a professorial tone. "In fact, in Greece, using siren song in a curse is punishable by ten years in prison."

Harry's shoulders slumped.

"It's not  _impossible_ to break," said Eleison. "And the Greek chap and I are working on an idea; I've reached out to Newt Scamander, and he's got a few ideas as well. It's just damned tricky."

Silence fell over the room.

"We'll figure this out," Rowan said gently.

"Can we see Bill?" Ron asked.

Ginny and Ron followed Rowan into the other room. Harry stayed behind. They had him in an enchanted sleep, but Harry thought it best if he not even be in the same room. Thus he was there when Tulip Karasu arrived, looking frazzled, and with scorch marks up and down her robes.

He gaped at her.

"Harry Potter," she said cheerfully. "I heard you need my help to break you into Azkaban."

"Erm, I—"

"You couldn't find anyone better," Eleison said, amused. "Tulip's been breaking into places she oughtn't since she was eleven."

"Younger," Tulip said happily. "And Azkaban should be a challenge! I like that. I mean, it would have been a challenge if my parents didn't know all the keys and passwords to get there." She looked at him. "You know, you could've just told the Minister that you want to go to Azkaban. He would've taken you there himself."

Harry was startled into a laugh. "Yes," he said. "But I want to come out again."

She waved her hand. "Details, details."

They waited until Ginny and Ron came back out of the back bedroom before Tulip began telling them her plan. It was simple. They would have to fly out into the North Sea; Tulip had everything they needed. "Or I will, I just have to Confund Dad," she said buoyantly. "I probably need about a week… he's giving a presentation to MACUSA."

"You're Confunding your parents  _again_?" Rowan said, half-laughing, half-disapproving.

Tulip shrugged. "I'm sure they're used to it by now."

Harry did not feel nearly as cheerful. He didn't know these people; the only reason he trusted them was because Ginny did. Tulip's intentions weren't to be doubted, but it seemed too simple… too easy. He was used to things being a little more complicated. It'd taken them a month of planning to get into the Ministry of Magic to get the locket Horcrux; but they were going to fly right to Azkaban, the fiercely guarded wizard prison?

These thoughts filled him, making it difficult to concentrate on the conversations playing out near him. Finally, they left, and returned to Grimmauld Place.

Over the next several days, Harry's confidence in the plan grew. It helped that the others thought it totally solid. "Tulip's dad got back from his conference," said Ginny. "She'll get the key from him tonight or tomorrow. Looks like we'll go to Azkaban on Sunday."

"Have we all worked out how we'll be disguised?" Harry asked worriedly.

"Yes, Harry," they said together.

Harry was brushing his teeth the night before they left for Azkaban when he heard something he hadn't in a while: Ginny's voice, warped slightly because it was coming through a mirror. "Ginny?" He said, confused, despite the fact she couldn't here him. She was here at Grimmauld Place, wasn't she? What need did they have to talk to each other through the mirrors? He grabbed his mirror, and opened the connection—

—and was treated to the wonderful sight of Ginny's breast.

"What's this?" He asked, delighted.

"I was hoping we could play a game," said Ginny. The mirror pulled back to reveal Ginny's torso against dark wood.

"What kind of game?" Harry asked.

"Hide and seek," said Ginny. "Come fiiiind me."

Harry threw on his pajamas and flew out of the room, holding the mirror in front of him. She cupped her breast for him, lightly stroking her nipple with her thumb. Harry watched as it hardened.

He searched the entire top floor, even going so far as to poke his head into the tiny attic. "Are you going to give me a hint?" he asked.

"Just that you better find me before I come," said Ginny. She grinned at him. Wherever she was, it was dark. All Harry could see was her and her lit wand. She moved the mirror, showing him her lovely red curls. Harry wanted to kiss them.

Harry stopped on the landing to look at a copy of the Map Hermione had made of Grimmauld Place. It warned him that he did not want to go in the kitchen at the moment — Merlin, thought Harry, amused, Ron and his food. Checked every nook and cranny on the second floor while Ginny tormented him letting him watch her roll her clit between her fingers.

"Gods, Ginny," he said in a strangled voice. He stumbled into the library.

"Ooo, I think I hear you," she said.

He almost tore the room apart. Then he stopped, suddenly so aroused he could hardly. "Ginny — are you — is that —"

Harry could not form a coherent sentence, and his words stumbled to a halt when he opened the secret cupboard to find Ginny grinning at him, naked on the paisley-upholstered chair, and surrounded by erotic paintings. The three witches in one portrait had paused in their ministrations and were looking at his Ginny.

Harry approved.

"You know about this place?" he asked in a raspy voice.

"Oh, we've known Ginny for a while," said the lusty mermaid.

Harry shut the door behind him, and started taking off his clothes. "A while?"

"I found it over Christmas the year we stayed here," Ginny said, turning beet red. "It was... quite the education." The Romans having an orgy cheered at her words.

Harry looked over at the three witches, who were now lapping at each other. "I bet," he said. And then, because he did not want even painted people watching him make love to his wife, Harry cast a privacy charm.

"BOO!" heckled a pirate, who had a wench's head down near his privates.

"Coward!" someone else shouted.

Ginny brought her knees up and scooted down to the edge of the chair. Harry groaned as he entered her. They kissed, their tongues tangling, and she stroked his back with her long fingernails. Harry moved slowly, appreciating the angle... he was in deep — she was sucking him in deeper.

"You should have used your tongue on her little pearl," said a woman in black. She was playing with her own pearl, Harry saw.

Harry refocused his attention on Ginny. She was smiling at him, a heated look in her eyes. He withdrew, and then plunged all the way back in.

"God, you feel so good," she told him on a moan.

She'd primed herself, and she was already making little mewling sounds with every breath. For long minutes, Harry kept to the rhythm they'd found they both liked.

"Arrrr, sounds like she likes that, matey!"

"You — aren't — even looking around," she gasped.

"I like what's in front of me," said Harry. He put his hand between them, stroking her. She grabbed at it, and pressed it down hard — wiggling against him. Harry felt her squeeze him rhythmically as she came.

She cried out.

"Yessssss," hissed the woman in black. "Merlin, keep fucking her. Harder."

Harry didn't give Ginny a chance to recover, but kept pushing — not because a portrait told him too, but because he wanted to. His knees were hurting, and his back was starting to tense up... but God, it felt so good — she was so warm and pliant. Her climax had softened her...

Then she pushed at his chest. "Let me," she said.

He pulled out of her, and they switched places. Harry stretched out his legs, Ginny climbed on top of him, and they were wrapped around each other. She fitted him at her entrance, and Harry slid back into her warmth.

"I do miss a good hard cock every once in a while," said one of the three witches. Harry glanced at them out of the corner of his eye. They were in a pile together, fingering each other.

Harry looked away from them, and kissed Ginny. Hard. She matched him, and they hardly came up for air at all, letting their breaths mingle as Ginny rode him.

"I love you," he told her.

Then their ride became more urgent. Harry clutched her hips as she rocked against him. Pressure built, and he was taking great, heaving breaths, head flung back against the chair.

Ginny was chanting his name.

She came on him hard, like a force of nature, and Harry could no longer hold back, but released a flood into her. He throbbed and kissed her until they both stopped shaking.

"God, that was bloody fantastic," said Ginny.

The Roman orgy was cheering them on as they dressed. "I can't believe you were doing... that in front of them," Harry grinned at her.

"We liked it," said the mermaid.

Ginny shrugged. "They're just portraits."

The wench who'd been servicing the pirate pouted. "Ye've ne'er made me scream like tha'," she said sulkily. The pirate spluttered.

Harry and Ginny walked very close all the way back to their room. They held on to each other, and continued to do so the whole night until dawn broke. Harry had slept, but poorly. His anxiety had prodded him in his dreams, and he awoke feeling slightly ill.

They met Tulip in Peterhead, a coincidence that shook Harry slightly. They did not go to the house Alecto Carrow had held Andromeda and Teddy hostage in. But Harry glanced up the street. He thought he saw the ghost of the little boy who'd died with a slit throat.  _They're going to die screaming_ , he'd said, and it now seemed prophetic. Or the ghost possibly—

"Harry Potter, are you ready?"

They'd put on every safety and disguise charm they knew – even Ginny, who was under Harry's Cloak at his insistence. He knew instinctively that it would work for her now; when they'd married, their magical natures had bonded. The Cloak would recognize that Ginny was now a Potter.

Tulip took the lead. Ron and Hermione – on the same broom, of course – followed her. Harry went last of all, right behind Ginny. At least, he assumed he was right behind her.

They flew northeast. Harry had to blink constantly; the morning sun was fierce over the tumultuous sea. It was beautiful, he thought. He could see freighters and fishing boats bobbing on the waves. Seagulls flew about him, and he could see pelicans diving from great heights.

It was just after Harry spotted a pod of dolphins that Tulip called for a halt. She was pretty far ahead of him, and it took him a moment to see why they'd stopped: there, hovering in midair, was a heavy-looking iron door. Tulip fitted a key into it, and it opened. A blast of sea water sprayed them.

It was darker over on the other side of the door. They flew now through rough winds. The waves below them were huge and capped with white. The birds he saw were bedraggled and struggling. Down in the sea, the pod of dolphins had vanished. Instead, he saw the sharp-edged, fang-shaped dorsal fins of sharks circling below.

They came to another door in the air, this one all black, and surrounded by what looked like smoke. It was cold flying through it.

It was midnight over on this side of the door. The sea was calm and glassy in a way that made Harry's stomach clench with fear. There were ripples every now and again, as though something just under the quiet sea were stretching itself out. It reminded him of the cave in which he and Dumbledore had found the fake locket. The calmness was misleading.

Part of him had been expecting another door, but when Tulip called for a halt again, it was not a door that awaited them, but a misty grey face hanging motionless before them. It was not a human face, but it was fairly close. There were tiny sparks inside the mist that made Harry feel dizzy. He blinked, and looked away.

"It's a will-o-the-wisp," Ginny's disembodied voice hissed in his ear.

"Not many visitors come to Azkaban by way of the sea," it said in a wispy voice.

"Figured I'd take the trainees the long way," Tulip lied boldly. "These are future Aurors. I wanted them to get a good look at our protections."

"Why so interested in Azkaban?" it asked. "If you knew the places I could take you, you would beg me to show you."

"We'd die for the pleasure," Tulip said. "Yes, yes, I know. Fortunately, I know the password." She lowered her voice and whispered it.

The wisp whirled away. "Follow it!" Tulip cried.

Against his own instincts, Harry flew after the wisp, following its lights. He spared a thought for Sirius, wondering how his godfather had managed to escape Azkaban. He'd made it sound so easy, Sirius had, but Harry realized his godfather had left out some very important details… wondered if Sirius knew why that stretch of sea had been so calm…

And then there it was. Azkaban jutted out of the tumultuous sea. Storm clouds circled over it, and the cries of the sea birds sounded like people screaming…

They were there.


	19. Ekizdris: A Retrospective

CHAPTER NINETEEN

EKIZDRIS: A RETROSPECTIVE

They hung there in the air above Azkaban. Harry was suddenly uncertain as to what they were going to do. Tear apart Azkaban room by room? Cell by cell? He looked at Hermione. "D'you—"

"If I help you now, you don't get to ask me for help later," said a small, sullen voice. Harry whirled around. There hung the ghost from outside the Carrow house. He hung there, sad and small. He must have followed them from Peterhead.

"Ask you for help later?" Hermione asked, bewildered.

"You can't. I won't help you. But I'll tell you how to get into himself's secret chambers."

To Harry, this sounded nonsensical. The ghost wouldn't help them, but would show them the way to get what they needed.

"You care about them cursed ones," said the ghost. It wasn't a question. He was nearly transparent in the slate grey sky.

"Yeah, we do," Ginny said quietly. "They're my parents. My brothers. My friends."

"It be my sister he took," said the ghost. "I stowed away once he brung her out of the bog, and over the land and sea to this place." His cadence was weird, Harry realized. "I didn't know it was already too late." The ghost sighed. "He brung them into the bog and made em go further. Into  _her_ territory. Then he brung em back out, and brought them here. To watch. Hundred of em, at least."

Ginny pulled off the hood of the Cloak, and her head appeared bobbing in front of them. She made a frustrated sound. "But  _why—"_

"He'll show you. C'mon."

The ghost darted forward. They were able to follow, barely, and Hermione screamed the entire way. The murdered boy led them around the back. They hovered there, feeling the sting of water hitting them from the churning sea below. There was nothing to stand on. The rock was smooth here, as though made so by magic. Harry tightened his grip on his broom.

The ghost tapped the wall. An arch that glowed a sullen red appeared for a moment. "Need blood," the murdered boy said.

Ginny withdrew a small knife from her belt, and before Harry could stop her, slashed it across her palm. Grimly, she pressed her wounded hand where the ghost indicated.

Tulip pulled back. "Harry Potter, I will remain here to keep watch. Send a patronus should you need help."

Harry nodded.

The hidden entrance led to a long, sloping tunnel that led ever downward. They walked silently; Harry inspected Ginny's wounded hand as they went. She had not done much damage. It had already stopped bleeding, but it did look like it hurt. "Hermione, do you have that dittany?"

"Of course," Hermione said calmly. She passed it back to them, and Harry dabbed a few drops on her palm. The skin immediately knit together.

Harry wanted to tell her that she should let him be the one to do things like that. But he knew that would not go over well. "Thank you for opening the way for us," he told her.

"You're welcome," she said.

Torches with an eerie blue light lit as they passed. It smelled old down here, as though something had decayed here long ago, and the memory of rot lingered.

"Dad said once that the Ministry found all sorts of things here," said Ron. "I wonder if they found this place."

It seemed odd to Harry that in all the years since the Ministry'd used it as a prison, they'd never found the entrance to the secret lair. Perhaps they hadn't wanted to look, but still. That seemed remarkably irresponsible. But so did using the stronghold of a dark wizard as a prison in the first place, so what did Harry know?

The tunnel went only a little further until they came into a cavernous room. What caught Harry's attention first was a little wooden carving of a hippogriff, like a child's toy. It was incongruous here in the darkness and shadows. Harry looked away from it.

Other than the hippogriff, the room was empty. There was an alcove beyond it, from which a bruised purple light seemed to glow. Harry's steps quickened. He  _knew_ that color.

He was very careless, he realized later. He did not stop to think, or to be cautious. Instead, he went straight into that alcove, where a tentacled brain, floating in a purple sphere, was waiting for him.

It reminded him of something. But what? He moved closer, reaching out—

"Harry, no!" shouted Ron. "Don't—"

But it was too late. He hadn't touched anything, but there was a rushing sound, as though he'd crossed a threshold and woken something up. The brain swiveled toward him. The tentacles spread in menace.

Before Harry could do anything, before he could stop it, the brain's tentacles wrapped around his forearms, and he lost himself. The last thing he saw was Ron's horrified face as his friend tried to rip the tentacles off Harry's arm.

_Ekizdris plodded along behind his father and sister, glumping from one footprint to another, taking satisfaction in spraying as much bog water as he could. The day had been one of the worst in memory. His father, who used to have a steady job providing will o'the wisps to witches and wizards who needed them for their curses — they were almost always used for curses, although his father had once provided ten bottle-trapped wisps for the birthday party of an insane wizard. That had not ended well for the guests, they'd heard later, but they'd been paid up front, so who cared?_

_His father and sister were talking up ahead. They still thought he was too little to understand them, but he wasn't. Right now they were gesturing toward him with their hands, their eyes. They were discussing how best to use him as bait for one of the nightmares of the bog._

_The first time they'd used him as bait, Ekizdris had been terrified. He knew the stories, of course. Their stone house — so much bigger and finer than the others in town — was no further than a stone's throw to the bog. Only fools didn't fear the fey lights that would lead them deeper and deeper into the bog._ _Everyone_ _, from king to fool, feared the banshee. So when his father and sister had suddenly disappeared from view, leaving Ekizdris alone on a dry mound, he'd wet himself. And he'd nearly fainted when the lights began dancing before his eyes._

_This time, he was ready for it. Ekizdris did not mind being put in peril. Seven times they'd done it, and seven times they'd saved him, bagging the wisp in the process. It was better than constantly having to search out Muggle orphans or slaves to use as bait. But Ekizdris did mind that his father had denied him the carved wooden hippogriff he'd seen in the store. Seven times they'd used him! And they didn't even bother to give him anything for it._

_It was this outrage that led to everything changing that day. Ekizdris had a wand now, and while he pretended to need to use a tree, his father and sister made to disappear._

_Ekizdris cast a Confundus Charm at his sister's retreating back. It was a small thing, not very powerful — he was, after all, only seven — but it was strong enough that when Lizayne tried to circle around to help her father catch the wisp, she ended up heading deeper into the bog. Every time she tried to correct her mistake, she made a bigger one. By the time the charm wore off, it was much too late for Lizayne. She had already wandered where mortals shouldn't, and even though she was a witch, and prodigiously talented, she was only twelve._

_The banshee got her. Wanting more after her brief snack on Lizayne's hard death, she moved closer to where she sensed mortals. A man — whose death would be much more powerful — had crossed the line into her territory. She sent out her power and touched him._

_Ekizdris's father shuddered, then hurried away._

" _Let's go, let's go," he told his son tersely._

_Ekizdris, who felt a twinge of remorse, said: "But Father, Lizayne—"_

" _Shut up."_

_He took his son roughly by the upper arm, and Apparated them back to their house, where he hurriedly began packing up. Their entire sitting room disappeared in a trice. Ekizdris's father packed everything, then he grabbed his son, and they left that village forever._

_Ekizdris did not know something had changed his father forever for a while. Only a tendril of the banshee's power had touched him. It remained there, corrupting him. His father began to do unspeakable things to him and to others. There was a shadow on his face, and he slid further and further into a darkness Ekizdris did not fully understand._

_It fascinated him even as it repulsed him._

_Toward the end, his father could not get up from his bed, could not move to feed himself, could not even use a bedpan. Shadows crawled all over his face now. There was a cold darkness in the room. It grew and grew, and Ekizdris realized with no small amount of excitement that something terrible was about to happen._

_The shadows congealed around his father's body, and then, as though giving birth, shadow came pulsing out of his father's mouth. It formed the shape of a hooded figure — it was not human, no one would mistake it for human — and bobbed in the air._

_Ekizdris watched it. It was looking at him, he sensed. What was it—_

" _It is what happens when someone escapes me," said the nightmare of the bog. The shrieking death._

_Ekizdris did not show any signs of fear when he looked at her. The banshee was beautiful and terrible at once. She looked nearly like a mortal woman, but was much too pale, and had a faintly bruised purple cast to her skin. Long black hair hung like water weeds down her back. Her white dress was stained with shadows and muck._

_She bared her teeth at him. "I am far outside my territory and cannot touch you. But_ _he is mine._ _Will you try to fight me, wizardling?"_

" _Take him," Ekizdris said. "Take him, and make yourself even more beautiful."_

_For that night had corrupted Ekizdris as surely as his father had been corrupted. Not in the same way. He had looked upon the face of a banshee, and survived. Nothing about living flesh would ever excite him._

"—Almost got it—"

"Careful! You have no idea how much it hurts to rip one of these off!"

"JUST GET IT OFF HIM!"

_Ekizdris was older now, leading someone into a bog... "Don't worry," he told the young woman soothingly. "I know a shortcut back to your mother's house."_

_He stopped, and wrapped a beautiful gold chain around her wrist. He held the other end in his hand. With a gentle push to her shoulder, he sent her off into the bog._ That potion worked extraordinarily well _,_ _he thought. He'd added a bit of murtlap to it, on a hunch. The young lady who had so trustingly drank the wine he'd given her had been silent and obedient for over an hour._

"—I've got it, look, it's peeling off—"

A grunt of effort.

"GENTLY, I TOLD YOU!"

_Then they were on an island. Ekizdris was leading that same young woman toward the fortress. Her eyes were vacant._

" _You're safe from Death here," he told her. She did not reply. "At least for now. I'm trying to measure how long it takes for the banshee to find you. It only took a few months for my father."_

_He neglected to tell her she'd be gone long before that. Once they birthed that shadow out of their mouth, they were mindless. His experiments had proven that. His next task was to figure out exactly what it was..._

"GET IT OFF! HERMIONE! DO IT!" shouted Ginny.

_There was a terrible face in the sky—_

Then, suddenly, he was Harry again, laying on the floor, his forearms bleeding. He blinked up at the ceiling, feeling the coldness of Ekizdris's thoughts. He hurt deep inside. Something warm touched his cheeks, and Harry realized tears were sliding down his face.

"You're going to be okay," said Ron. "It's going to hurt, but you're okay. You're  _you,_ Harry.

Harry was definitely Harry. He knew that. He turned his head, and saw Hermione building a cage around the brain. She looked grim and angry.

He turned the other way, and green eyes met warm brown.

"The banshee is coming for them," he said. His lips and tongue were numb. "It's a banshee, not a boggart, not a Dementor. It's a banshee. It's  _death._ Oh God."

"It's okay, shh," said Ginny.

Harry struggled weakly. Ron poured essence of dittany over Harry's forearms. He had to make them understand. They needed to know what he knew. He thought of what the ghost had told them before leading them here. "He brung them into the bog and made em go further. Into  _her_ territory. Then he brung em back out, and brought them here. To watch. Hundred of em, at least."

He scrubbed his face. There were so many Dementors because of Ekizdris. He'd seen one created — then he created more. He felt sick to his stomach.

It was happening to the Weasleys. He knew instinctively what Ekizdris hadn't — that it was their patronuses that were being corrupted by the banshee's curse. They were converting — so slowly! — into Dementors. Tears kept sliding down his face. Their patronuses — the embodiment of their most powerfully happy memories — were experiencing a kind of perversion Harry had never before considered.


	20. Friendly Competition

CHAPTER TWENTY

FRIENDLY COMPETITION

Ginny, Ron and Hermione had to help him back to Grimmauld Place. The lacerations in his arms throbbed in pain. The healing spell Hermione had done had stopped the bleeding, but it could not stop the sick thoughts that kept intruding on his mind.

He did not speak — could not — the entire long way back to Grimmauld Place. He rode behind Ginny on her broom, and it was all he could do to hold on to her. They flew over the calm, midnight sea where the kraken lurked just below. They flew through the storm. Ginny guided them through toward Peterhead, where she then Apparated them home.

Harry collapsed on the sofa.

"Telly spelly," he managed to croak. Hermione used her wand to pull the memories of what just happened out of his head.

The relief was instantaneous. Harry sagged with it, leaning on Ginny. It was the first time since they'd pulled that brain off of him that he felt entirely himself. "Oh God," he said, covering his eyes. "I never want all those memories back." Even the pain in his arms faded.

Hermione was looking at the memories on the end of her wand. "They don't even look like yours," she said.

Harry shook his head. "They weren't. Not really. That brain... he poured so much of his  _life_ into it." The urge to vomit still lingered at the back of his throat. He swallowed several times to clear it. His fingers plucked restlessly at the paisley fabric of the sofa. "They were cold... and slimy. And vile. I don't ever want them back in me."

He felt that he could not fully articulate his absolute need to have them away. Harry could still remember what had happened, but it was not as intimate as thinking it had actually happened to him... he no longer felt unsure as to whether he was Ekizdris or Harry Potter.

"Just..."

"I understand," Ron said quietly, uncharacteristically serious.

Harry realized with a jolt that Ron  _did_ understand. That brain that had attacked him in the Department of Mysteries had done damage — Ron still had scars from it. Harry had never fully understood... had not truly appreciated what his friend had gone through.

Ron pushed up the sleeves of his robes, and Harry did the same. Ron's scars were faded and white. Harry's were still angry red wounds. But the shape was the same.

In a weird way, this made Harry feel better.

The others watched Harry's memories while he forced himself to think about what he had learned. It  _hurt_. It hurt to know that Ekizdris had done something so terrible... he'd taken something as pure and wonderful as a patronus, and corrupted it. He'd done it deliberately, to so many people. It didn't matter that it had happened centuries ago. Ekizdris had taken the most pure part of someone, and had turned it into a Dementor.

And Voldemort had distilled this knowledge and had weaponized it. Had used it against people who mattered to Harry. If Harry and the others did not figure out a way to reverse it, their family and friends would have their patronuses turn to Dementors. They would be soulless and hollow.

And then the banshee would come for them. That haggard, horrible face Harry had seen.

The others were putting it together just as he had. Ginny's face was set and white. Ron's eyes bulged with horror. A couple of tears slipped down Hermione's cheeks.

And when his memories of being Ekizdris finally ran out, Harry knew what they were all thinking. Even worse than the wounds on his arms and the thoughts in his head was the hopeless despair.  _It's impossible_. The words hung between them all. Dementors and banshees... they were amortal. They were forces of nature. They were inevitable, like glaciers. How did they fight against something like that?

It settled over them like a cold shroud. It was as though Dementors were  _here_ in the room with them. Harry rubbed his burning eyes.

"Cheering charms," Ron said suddenly. He leapt to his feet. "This despair — it's got to be because the wards we made so long ago are failing. That's got to be it." He started recasting the wards, pointing at every corner, desperation lit on his face.

Ginny joined him.

Warmth began to seep into Harry. He and Hermione exchanged a look. Harry pulled out the Elder Wand, and added its strength.

 _It isn't impossible,_ Harry thought. He thought of all the impossible situations he'd been in. He smiled as all four of them moved from room to room, recasting the wards that would keep Dementors from entering Grimmauld Place. It was too bright here, too warm.

He knew the others were feeling more hopeful. He could tell that some of the tension went out of their bodies. Especially Ginny's.

They covered the entire house with cheerful wards, turning it into a fortress to banish the dark. By the time they were done, Harry could not stop grinning.

"Listen," he put his hand on Ron's shoulder, "your parents have got nothing to worry about. We're going to figure this out."

"I know," Ron said happily. "You're Harry fucking Potter, banshee doesn't stand a chance."

Ginny and Hermione laughed.

But despite all of the cheer, Harry still had brief flashes of foreboding, and the wounds on his arms would throb.

It took Harry several days to recover from having his brain so intruded upon. It shook him at odd moments; a flash of memory, and for a second he'd be Ekizdris, with those cold, slimy thoughts.

That first night, Ginny got in the shower with him, and kissed him until Harry's legs were too shaky to support his weight. He sat on the tile, legs splayed apart, Ginny bobbing in front of him, making him come with her mouth. All thoughts of Ekizdris... of the impossible banshee... of the horror of what had been done... gone. It was bliss.

It worked the other way, too.

Ginny was sprawled out on the bed, legs apart, shirt up around her armpits. Harry had one hand on her breast, flicking his thumb over her budded nipple. His mouth... his mouth was on her. She was warm and wet, and Harry kept teasing her, just so he could keep tasting her.

There was a knock at the door.

"Harry — an owl came, I think it's important," Hermione said tentatively.

Harry glanced up at Ginny. She sat up on her elbows, and started to move—

He adjusted his position so that his shoulders kept her pinned down. And his attention turned back to her clit, and the fact she tasted so good, like tart strawberries. A minute later, she was rolling her hips against him, and was mumbling incoherently.

Harry took his time. He knew her a little better now, knew there were small nuances. He suckled on her clit, feeling if twitch in his mouth, and knew this was the moment to press down hard with his tongue. At the last second, Harry switched tactics, and pressed his thumb against her most sensitive part, wiggling it...

...and watched her come.

It was his favorite part of going down on her, watching her come. Even more than he enjoyed her taste. He could see her clenching and throbbing, and flushing a brighter red. "Beautiful," he murmured.

She said something too garbled for him to understand. Harry pressed one more kiss to her damp red curls, and then climbed up her body to give her a different sort of kiss.

The next day, after resolutely ignoring Ron and Hermione, Harry noticed a change to the map Hermione had made. Instead of just showing when a room was occupied, it now had an oddly shaped scoreboard. In bold letters were the words: RON&HERMIONE and HARRY&GINNY. Beneath Ron and Hermione's names were the marks:

_The kitchen: 2_

_Their bedroom: 2_

_The Quidditch Pitch: 1_

Under Harry and Ginny's:

_Their bedroom: 4_

_The shower: 1_

Harry's mouth slowly gaped open. "Is it a competition?" he asked in strangled tone. Right before his eyes, the numbers shifted. The others had... completed what they started in the Quidditch Pitch. There was now a 2 in that category.

"Those devils," Ginny said, awed.

Harry glanced at her. She was very competitive, Ginny was. She grabbed his hand and started pulling him toward the kitchen. He followed, laughing, and she was the one to lock the door to the Quidditch Pitch.

Then they tried something they hadn't before, and tried to do it up against a wall.  _Tried_. His pants were down around his ankles, Ginny was wrapped around him, and he had her up against the wall. Harry loved the deep penetration, loved the way Ginny was grinding herself against him... loved it too much.

"Ow!" Ginny cried, when a particularly hard thrust of Harry's made her rap her head against the wall.

"Sorry," Harry grunted. His arms were trembling with fatigue, and he had the peculiar sensation of being both on the verge of coming and falling over. He shifted her in his arms, and she laid her head on his shoulder.

Then she peered up at him. "Carry me over to the table?"

It took two steps before they were on the floor, in a tangle of limbs. She was laughing so hard she was nearly crying. "I forgot your trousers were down around your ankles!"

Harry rolled over on top of her, and nudged her legs apart. She lifted her knees and tilted her hips, and Harry slid back in. They wrapped their arms around each other — Harry was careful that he didn't put his full weight on top of her — and began to move.

Her red hair was spread out on the floor, and her eyelids kept fluttering closed whenever he was fully inside her. She was beautiful like this, he thought, totally lost in the pleasure they created for each other. He pushed up onto his hands so he could see more, and watched himself moving in an out of her. His penis was glistening with her wetness.

It was an erotic sight, that.

Her hand drifted down between them, and began to rub. Harry moved faster, finding an angle that made her groan low in her throat. Her hips were pushing up against his, meeting his every thrust.

Harry came first, flooding her. "Sorry," he gasped.

She shook her head, eyes squeezed shut, and continued to rub herself. Harry relaxed when he felt her come.

Over the next several days, the only contact they had with Ron and Hermione was watching their scores change on the map. Harry, who was not nearly as competitive as Ginny, was still smugly satisfied that they were now winning, both in number of times they'd had sex, and in the most inventive locations. It'd been his idea to try the attic. That had been quick, laughter-filled sex where both of them had been fully clothed, with only the important bits uncovered. It'd been special, though, because Ginny usually made some sort of sound when she came, but when they'd come together in that dusty, slightly smelly attic, her orgasm had made her laugh.

But after days of doing it in all sorts of different places around Grimmauld Place, Harry and Ginny found themselves atop a comfortable bed once more. They weren't in a hurry, and they were idly playing with each other. Gently, since they'd both been experiencing some chafing.

"These last few days..." Harry said quietly. "I mean, I need you all the time. But since Azkaban, I've needed you even more."

"Are you still getting that sick feeling?" Ginny asked.

Harry sucked in a breath: her thumb had just circled the head of his penis in that light, teasing way she had. It sent chills up his spine. "No, not for a couple days," he said. He rolled over onto his back, and watched her play with him.

Ginny shook her head, smiled at him, and then leaned over and took him into her mouth. Harry arched his back, and splayed out into a more comfortable position.

Then an idea struck him. "Ginny, climb up," he said urgently.

She looked at him, not understanding.

"Don't you want to try using our mouths at the same time?"

"Oh! Yes!"

And they did try. First, Ginny climbed on top of him, and lowered her center toward him. The sight and eroticism of the act had nearly made Harry come. But then as he licked her, they realized she was simply not long enough to put him in her mouth. They rolled over, and found a position that had both their mouths in just the right spot... and for three minutes it was brilliant, until Harry's neck began to complain at the angle. They tried one more thing, which might have worked, but it was ludicrous enough that Ginny couldn't stop giggling, and Harry worried that he would actually hurt her if he came like that.

"Maybe we should try to figure this out some other time," Ginny said, still laughing.

Harry moved, and thus restored his dignity. He dropped next to her, and pulled her into his arms. He nuzzled her neck, placing wet, open-mouthed kisses along it, knowing it was a very sensitive spot for her.

"It's nice to be back on a bed," Harry murmured.

Ginny laughed a wicked little laugh that sent a jolt of heat right to his penis. "Our best idea yet," she confirmed.

Harry hitched her leg over his hip, and used his hand to position himself where he wanted to be. They groaned as they fit together.

They made love to each other as long as they could, stretching it out, playing, until both of them were trembling and drenched with sweat. Ginny had her arms tight around him, had him in the death grip that signaled she was about to come. Harry strained against her, letting her use his body the way she needed. As soon as he felt her contracting around him, squeezing him tight, he gave three hard thrusts and his own climax hit him.

"Ungh," Harry gasped. She was still squeezing him, still coming, and he could feel himself shooting into her...

He collapsed.

They held each other, hearts still racing. Harry kissed her, long, lazy kisses. His tongue tangled with hers. It was with great reluctance that they broke apart, dressed, and freshened the room. Ginny pulled the duvet cover they'd brought down off the bed, and vanished it.

They smirked at each other.

Ginny tiptoed over to the door, cracked it open, and peered out. "It's clear," she whispered.

They scrambled out of Ron and Hermione's room at a dead run. Harry was holding his breath in order to contain his laughter. He paused to look at the scoreboard, and was very pleased with what he saw:

RON&HERMIONE

_Their room: 5_

_The shower: 1_

_The kitchen: 3_

_The library: 1_

_The Quidditch Pitch: 3_

_Downstairs guest bathroom: 1_

HARRY&GINNY

_Their room: 6_

_The shower: 1_

_The master bedroom: 1_

_The attic: 1_

_The Quidditch Pitch: 2_

_The library: 1_

_The front porch: 1_

_Ron and Hermione's room: 1_

Harry grinned at that last one, and then ran up the stairs. He landed on the fourth floor landing, yanked open the door to their room, and hauled Ginny inside.

Just as he pulled the door closed behind them, he heard Hermione's outraged shriek echo from far below them.


	21. Newt Scamander

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

NEWT SCAMANDER

A winged cat came during a lull in the competition, which turned out to be fortunate for everyone in Britain.

Harry and Ginny were in the library. She had her head on his lap, and was reading about sirens. Harry was stroking her hair, and reading about patronuses. Ron and Hermione were in a similar state of relaxation. Earlier that morning, they'd silently agreed to a truce. Harry, who had spent all of yesterday creating a cozy replica of the Gryffindor common room, and then making love to Ginny in it, had to confess to some relief. Once Hermione had begun to create extra bedrooms, the competition had really heated up, and Harry was genuinely worried he was going to end up hurting himself.

So for the first time in over a week, all four of them were in the same room, dressed, and once more working on the task that lay ahead of them.

"There's a cat at the window, Harry," Ginny said absently, flipping a page in her book.

Harry looked up. She was right. There was a large, flat-faced white cat glaring at him from outside the second-story window. It was carrying a scroll in its mouth. Its wings were open; it was obviously using them to keep balance. Harry opened the window for it, and it leapt inside with the grace of cats, and tucked its wings against its body.

"You're acting like you never saw a winged kneazle before," said Ron, grabbing the scroll.

Harry, who had, in fact, never seen or even heard of a winged kneazle, just nodded.

"Oh, isn't he gorgeous?" Hermione said, sinking down to the floor, and holding out her hand.

It rowled at her, and flounced over to Ginny, who lifted its tail and said: "I think it's a girl, actually…"

The kneazle purred. It was a loud purr, louder than Harry'd ever heard, even from Crookshanks. Now that he looked closer, he saw subtle differences (aside from the wings). Her ears were large, almost elfin in shape; her whiskers were long. Her eyes were sort of… opalescent, he supposed was the word. Multi-colored and shiny. It was clearly magical.

"Who did she come from?" Harry asked Ron.

"Oh… it's from Newt Scamander," said Ron. He held up the scroll – it was at least thirteen inches long, and written in what looked to be tiny writing. "He's talking about the siren… he says he can try to help break that part of the curse—"

"YES!" cried Ginny. She sat up in jubilation, but the kneazle took a flying leap, landed against her chest, and knocked her down again.

"What does it say, exactly?" Hermione asked.

Ron read it.

_Dear Mr. Potter and company,_

_My wife and I would like to offer our condolences to you and your friends during this time. While I cannot say that I have experienced exactly the same thing, I can tell you that I personally witnessed the rise and fall of the dark wizard Grindelwald, and knew of the many tragic things that happened to those caught in his wake. We would also like to express our gratitude in general for the sacrifice you made to rid the world of Tom Riddle. We also want to thank you, personally, Ms. Weasley—_

"Me?" Ginny said blankly. "Why me?"

" _Ms. Weasley. Our granddaughter was one of the students who stayed to fight at Hogwarts. She got hurt quite badly, and it was you who gave her comfort, and led her back inside where she remained safe. Holly said you helped her when she felt broken. So thank you._

_I would have helped all of you regardless, but now it is an honor and a privilege._

_As I have discussed with Eleison Clowder and Tulip Karasu, it is a delicate matter to untangle someone from a siren's song. It can be done, this I promise. But in order to do so, I need the object that the curse was housed in. I can offer some insight: it will be something musical in nature… an instrument, perhaps. It WILL be at Hogwarts. I have some ideas as to how to get you there without provoking suspicion._

"And then he gives us his address, and a detailed –  _very_ detailed explanation of how he'd break the siren's curse," said Ron.

"Any mention of the banshee?" Hermione said hopefully.

"Not a word," said Ron.

Harry felt both uplifted and letdown at the same instant. Yes, he was grateful that Newt Scamander had ideas as to how to untangle the siren's song from the banshee's corruption, but his instincts told him that even if that happened, the Weasleys and everyone else would still be cursed. The siren had created a bridge of sorts between banshee and mortal – she had been allowed to corrupt them outside of her territory. But she was already there, inside of them, her deathly power even now working on their patronuses.

"I think we should go see him," said Ginny. The winged kneazle was now in her lap, kneading her robes, and purring with content. Harry could not blame it.

"I agree," he said.

The address Scamander had given them was located in Dorset. It was the West Country… not too far from Devon, and the Burrow. The landscapes were similar enough that Harry felt a pang. Perhaps he and Ginny had even flown over Dorset during one of their excursions on their brooms.

All thoughts of the Burrow flew out of Harry's mind once he saw their destination. Instinctively, he looked around, aghast. Newt Scamander and his wife lived on a farm that housed animals Harry had never seen before; even Ginny and Ron hadn't, by the looks on their faces.

"That's an erumpent," Hermione said, shocked, pointing out a giant, grey creature that looked a little like an engorged rhinoceros. Harry could see its horn. It was glowing, even in full sunlight.

"Well, I suppose the author of  _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ knows what he's doing," said Ron.

They had no sooner entered the gate when a tall, older gentleman in tan and blue robes hurried out of the barn to meet them. Winged kneazle kittens flocked at his feet, making it rather difficult for him to walk.

"Sorry – pardon me," the man said. "They missed their mum while she was gone, you see."

The kneazle in Ginny's arms squirmed until Ginny let her go. She glided over to her kittens, and immediately rolled over onto her back. The kittens stopped bothering Newt, and gamboled over to their mum for afternoon luncheon.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Newt asked. He held out his hand to Harry. "You must be Harry Potter."

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Scamander," said Harry.

Just then, a lovely older woman stepped out of the main house.

"Ah, that's my Porpentina!"

Despite her age, she carried herself as a much younger woman. She hurried over to Ginny and clasped her hands. "You must be Ginny Weasley! Holly told us about you… how you helped her get back to the castle when she was so hurt… Thank you!"

"You're welcome, of course," Ginny said warmly. Then her face fell: "Holly was at the battle, but was she… is she…?"

"Cursed? No, thank goodness. She was hurt badly enough that Rolf – he came to help all of you, and Holly – he didn't stay for the end, he said. He just grabbed Holly and got her to St. Mungo's as fast as he could. But we still are just… that grateful to you, Miss Weasley."

Harry could not help himself. "It's not Ginny  _Weasley_ anymore, though. She married me. She's my wife, so she's Ginny Potter."

"Well, congratulations are in order!" said Porpentina. "I'm shocked it wasn't in the papers. When did you…?"

"Just before Christmas," Ron said proudly, wrapping his arm around Hermione. "Mum was tracking me and Ginny with a werewolf charm, so we had to combine our magical signatures and throw her off the scent."

Newt and Porpentina exchanged a quick, amused look. Harry's cheeks heated.

"I think magical creatures have it so much easier than young witches and wizards," Newt said magnanimously. "Take our kneazle friends, for example. They engage in coitus without benefit of marriage, don't they? We don't make the bee marry the flower before pollination. It's just silly—"

"Newt," Porpentina said gently, as Harry wished he'd brought his invisibility cloak.

"Yes?" Newt said distractedly.

"The children got married, we don't need to examine their reasons—"

"But it's perfectly natural—"

"Newt."

"We might have used my mum's tracking us as an excuse," Ginny allowed. She gripped Harry's hand and entwined her fingers with his. "But truthfully, we would have gotten married at some point, anyway. I can't imagine ever not loving Harry the way I do right now… we've been through too much together."

"Ah," said Newt, nodding. "The bond is solid. I know something of that, actually."

"It's that way for us, too," said Hermione.

"Plus, Hermione and I were already having sex," Ron put in. "We didn't need to be  _married_ to do it."

Hermione squawked.

Porpentina shook her head. Her eyes were dancing. "Why don't you come inside and have some tea? That way we can discuss what you came here to discuss."

They ended up staying for hours, and Harry drank enough tea that he felt like he was about to pop. Newt may have been old, and slightly odd in a way that reminded him of Luna, but he was as sharp as Hermione. He explained what they had to do to unbind the siren's song from the amortal: "Unfortunately, that bridge was already built," said Newt. "Unbinding the song won't remove the curse, but it will lessen it, hopefully."

Harry's brain hurt. He'd barely understood what Newt was saying about the siren, though Ginny'd been attentive, and had asked clever questions. All he knew for certain was that before they could proceed, they needed to find whatever it was that housed the curse.

"I don't suppose you have any advice  _at all_ about the banshee?" Harry asked quietly, once the discussion had wound down. He realized now that it had been there all along in the back of his mind, just waiting for him to be ready to deal with it.

"What can you tell me?" Newt asked. He was an intelligent man, Harry thought.

"I can show you what Ekizdris showed me," said Harry. Hermione immediately dug into her beaded bag, and pulled out the telly spelly. She enlarged it, and floated it in the center of the elegantly appointed sitting room.

Newt and Porpentina raised their eyebrows, but sat down. Harry took off his glasses, not needing to see it — he'd lived it in ways that still disturbed him. Unable to help himself, he pushed up the sleeve of his robes, and looked at the scar. It was still raised and pink. It was the kind of scar that would last forever, he thought.

Harry sighed, called himself a coward, and put his glasses back on. Maybe he would see something new...

"He learned to turn Death to his own purposes," Porpentina murmured.

"That kind of death, yes," agreed Harry. "She's the... kind of death people get when they wander and get lost and can't find the way back out. That's her territory." Harry hadn't articulated that before, but the words felt right.

"I thought her territory was the bog?" said Ron.

"It's both," said Harry. "It's the same thing to her."

"The truth is, Harry, banshees are... forces of nature," Newt said gently. "I've heard of banshees being given an — an exorcism of sorts, and there are even legends of them being sealed away... out of mortal reach. But I've never heard of anyone  _surviving_." He sighed. "But I've never heard of anyone surviving the Killing Curse, either."

"Didn't Gilderoy Lockhart kill a banshee?" Ron said. Then laughed.

Harry had to admire his friend's inappropriate humor.

Hermione swatted his arm. "Ron."

"No, no," Newt said absently. "Humor is necessary. Humor works against banshees."

"Besides," said Ron. "If it turns out we can't do anything, I'll just — just — I dunno — go back in time, or something." He looked at Newt. "No way any of us are just going to let some bog demon turn our family into Dementors, and — and drag them off. We don't let shit like that happen."

"That's the spirit!" said Porpentina.

"Gilderoy Lockhart," said Hermione. Her eyes were wide and unfocused. "He wrote a book about banshees—"

"Yeah," said Ron. " _Buggering the Banshee_ , or something."

Harry and Ginny laughed.

" _Break with a Banshee_ ," Hermione corrected severely.

"But he didn't have anything to do with—"

"He'd still need to know how it was done, he'd—"

"—didn't he say the wizard who'd really got rid of the banshee had a cleft palate?"

"No, I think the witch who did it had a hairy chin."

Harry remembered that they weren't home at Grimmauld Place, and smiled sheepishly at Newt and Porpentina, who were looking back and forth between them as though observing a Quidditch match. "Sorry," he said.

"No need to apologize," said Porpentina. She gave him a melancholy smile, and Harry was horrified to see her eyes were glittering. "It's just..." she waved her hand, indicating all of them. "The four of you, you remind me of — don't they remind you of  _us_ when we were young?"

"I see a lot of Jacob in Ron," said Newt.

Tears spilled over Porpentina's cheeks, and she got up from her chair in a rush. "Her sister and our good friend... we are not free to discuss it. Literally. But you touched her," Newt explained quietly. "We'll all sit down and have a good chat about it in — oh — twenty years or so, once the spell binding us wears off." He stood to shake Harry's hand. "It looks like you've an idea where to go next."

"Oh but — you said you had an idea — we need to find the—"

Newt cocked his head, and gave Harry a penetrating look. "Come back once you've more answers. We can work out how we get rid of the siren part of the curse." He looked Harry up and down. "You've good instincts," he said. "Trust them."

Harry turned to leave.

"You may need all of them," Porpentina said from the doorway.

"Pardon?"

"Exactly what my wife said," said Newt. And then they both gave him identical blank looks. "You may need all three of them to defeat the banshee."

It was an odd way for Newt to tell him that Harry would need Ginny, Ron, and Hermione. Of course he needed them. He didn't want to imagine what this year would have been like without them. After one last goodbye, Harry shrugged it off and left. The list of things they needed to do had just doubled. He caught up with the others, already pushing that last, odd exchange to the back of his mind.

"So we're going to St. Mungo's?"

"And then to Hogwarts," said Hermione. "We need to find that object."

It was early evening by the time they made it to St. Mungo's. Harry'd been all for just going straight away, but the witches insisted that they needed to work out how they were going to extract information from Gilderoy Lockhart. Apparently, they needed  _props_.

"Why can't we just go in there, I ask you," chuntered Ron as they headed in to St. Mungo's.

"Because he's in a delicate mental state – because of  _your_ wand, may I remind you," Hermione said impatiently. "Stop asking. This is going to work."

Harry, who privately agreed with Ron, bit his tongue.

Luck was on their side that evening. It was Rowan Khanna who sat behind the desk at the entrance to the Closed Ward. It was she who bent the rules, and allowed them onto the quiet ward, where Gilderoy Lockhart sat in mismatched pajamas. His top half had chickens, his bottom half fish. His bed was the only one occupied on that side of the ward. The other half was likewise empty, though a curtain separated a couple beds from the rest of the ward. Harry knew who was there: Frank and Alice Longbottom. Harry looked away, and back at his old professor.

"I don't know what you'll be able to get from him," Rowan whispered. "His memory's been shattered." A piercing ring sounded from outside the ward. "Oh, damn. I can't help. We've got an incoming patient." She hurried away.

"Let me try," said Ginny.

She sat in front of Gilderoy Lockhart, and her whole affect changed, bit by bit. She rolled her shoulders, simpered, and leaned forward fawningly. "Are you Gilderoy?" she asked breathily.

"I am! I am the famous Gilderoy Lockhart!"

"Oh, I can't believe I'm meeting you!" she cried.

Gilderoy leaned back, and smiled a smarmy smile. It was hard to believe he was sitting in the middle of the Closed Ward wearing mismatched pajamas. He had the countenance of a man who was having a busy book-signing at Flourish and Blotts. Harry felt an unexpected pang of guilt.

"Here," Ginny made a grand gesture of reaching into her bag. Hermione slipped the transfigured copy of  _Break with a Banshee_ into her other hand. Ginny presented it to Lockhart with a flourish. "This is my absolute favorite of yours," she gushed.

"That was — yes, quite," Lockhart looked at the book, non-plussed.

"You were so brave!" Ginny said, clasping her hands together under her chin. Harry privately thought she was laying it on a little thick, but Lockhart was lapping up the attention.

"I was just doing my duty!" Lockhart said with a staggering amount of self-importance. "But yes, I have been told by many people that they have never known anyone so brave."

"You know, I've heard about your bravery from so many people," Ginny leaned even further forward. "The village of Sorchaleigh  _still_ just raves about you."

Lockhart beamed. "Ah yes. They had a wee banshee problem. Ah yes. Yes, yes, yes. I gave her the heave-ho, didn't I?" He lifted his hands in a jubilant gesture. "They still remember me, do they?"

"Very much," Ginny said solemnly. "They said to send their regards to you, and their eternal thanks. Especially — especially... what was her name? Older. Hairy chin...?"

Lockhart's face sagged. "Hairy chin?"

"She said you were her hero!" Ginny clapped her hands and beamed. "She is your greatest fan?"

"Aiofe Finnegan is my greatest fan?" Lockhart said with wonder and doubt. "Really?"

"Got it," said Ginny, dropping the act and leaning back. Her voice went back to normal, for which Harry was fervently grateful. "Ee-fa Finnegan."

"Finnegan," Hermione murmured. "I wonder if she's related to—"

"Hellooooo!" Lockhart snapped his fingers, looking quite confused. "What about me? Didn't you want my autograph? I'm quite good at my joined up letters now!"

Ginny took compassion on him, and opened the book to the title page. "Yes, thank you. Thank you, Gilderoy." In large, childish letters, he wrote his name.

"Come back any time," he said cheerfully. "I am always delighted to meet—"

But Lockhart never finished his sentence. The door to the Closed Ward opened with a bang. Rowan Khanna fell in, wand knocked out of her hand.

"IT ISN'T ME THAT'S MAD! IT'S NOT ME!"

Harry knew that voice.

He surged forward, just as Rowan made it to her feet and flicked her wrist. The shouting stopped, and Neville Longbottom came into the room as though pulled by an invisible cord. Harry stopped and watched with horror. Neville looked awful: gaunt and haggard, furious and hurting. He fought against his bonds, like an wild creature in a trap.

His grandmother bustled in, tears streaming down her formidable face. "Thank you," she told Rowan. "He is quite — it has become too much for me to manage."

She saw Harry and the others, and her face crumpled horribly. "This — this curse. It's driven him — he's  _mad_."

The two witches led Neville down to the end of the Closed Ward, and placed him on the empty bed next to his parents.


	22. The Music Box

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

?

It was terrible, seeing Neville next to his parents. Harry's old friend had a shadow over his face, and a maniac's gleam in his eye. He struggled and pushed, and screamed silent threats at Harry.

Ginny gripped his hand and made a sound at the back of her throat; Harry understood. He stepped forward, bringing her with him. "We can give him some relief," he offered. "Not for long, but long enough to explain." He looked at Mrs. Longbottom, hoping she'd take him up on it.

She jerked her head in a nod.

"Just so you know, it won't last long… Rowan, if you could get me a – a tea kettle. Hermione – Ron – could one of you go back and get the potion?"

"I have it," Hermione said, already digging through her beaded bag. "I decided to keep some of it with us at all times back when we thought it was a boggart."

"Smart," Harry told her.

Ginny reached forward and stabbed Neville with her belt knife. "Sorry," she said. "Needed your blood."

"You'd understand if you were—"

Hermione stepped on Ron's foot, preventing him from saying something insensitive in front of Neville's grandmother.

Rowan was back with the teakettle by the time Hermione had found the Laughing Potion. Harry ignored Rowan's exclamation of surprise. As he recalled, Ginny'd suggested it as a last resort, and it had been the only thing they'd tried that worked. He paced up to the head of Neville's bed, ignored the way his friend writhed in alarm, and closed his eyes. Harry reached for memories of his friendship with Neville; there were many. Neville, standing up to them in first year, defending him in second… coming to the Ministry with him despite his terror… staggering out of Ariana Dumbledore's portrait. And, finally, Neville pulling Gryffindor's sword out of the Sorting Hat, and killing Nagini.

Harry thought of all of them, spoke the Latin that would call Neville's patronus to him, and opened his eyes to the sight of a sickly and bruised lion patronus.  _A lion,_  Harry thought, satisfied.  _That fits._

It was curled up in the teakettle. Unlike all the times they'd summoned George's patronus, the lion was awake, and blinking at them. It was shivering.

"Here," Hermione whispered. She added the Laughing Potion.

Rowan Khanna and Mrs. Longbottom were watching with wide, wide eyes. Harry turned his attention back to Neville. It took him a while to come back to himself. Harry watched as lucidity seeped back into his friend's eyes. Neville's mouth slowly fell open.

"What's happening?" he asked in a thick, raspy voice. "Harry – what's happened to me? Why was I -?"

Hermione was the one to tell him; she was more capable of being cool and rational. Neville's eyes widened and widened, and he let out a strangled moan when Hermione mentioned the banshee. "Oh God," he said. "Voldemort did this?"

"He made the curse, but it was Amycus Carrow who unleashed it," Harry said.

Neville shook his head. "That explains the ghosts. That explains Nearly Headless Nick." He coughed. Ginny thrust a cup of water into his hand. Neville drank it gratefully. "Nearly Headless Nick came to visit – what was it? A month ago?" At his grandmother's nod, he continued. "He said he wanted to help… said he was sorry he disappeared." Tears streamed out of his eyes. "I sent him away – I didn't know what he meant! And if someone could stop playing that song, I need to concentrate!"

"Neville," Hermione said urgently. "Can I take that memory of Nearly Headless Nick? I think… I think you may be on to something."

"Take it," said Neville. "Take it."

"Okay, you need to think about it. Remember exactly what happened," Hermione ordered, pointing her wand at his temple. A silvery stream of memory caught on the edge of her wand, and wrapped around it, as though it were a knitting needle.

"Neville," Harry said suddenly. "We're going to beat this thing." He waved his hand at the room. "You won't be here forever, or even for very long."

"I know, I trust you," Neville said openly. It was a moment – hardly even a breath – later that something in his face closed off. He shook his head as though to clear it. "I don't know why I just said that," he said. "How could I say that?" A harsh note crept into his tone. "You – you got your friends killed. We  _fought_ for you.  _You ran away_! I'M HERE BECAUSE OF YOU!"

Harry's stomach sank, and he had to take a deep breath. "I'm putting your patronus back in, Neville," he said. "We're going to heal it."

" _You're the one who is sick!_ " Neville said fiercely, as Harry took care to perform the ritual correctly. "You used the Cruciatus Curse!  _You knew what it did to my parents!"_

Rowan tilted a steaming cup into Neville's mouth, and he immediately went quiet, mouth sagging, and eyes drooping.

The curtains stirred. A woman with a thin face and sunken cheeks peeked out, eyes round. "What—what—what—"

Rowan immediately went to her, murmuring soothing words. "It's all right, Alice."

Mrs. Longbottom sat down with a small sigh. She pressed gnarled hands to her temples. When she looked at Harry, her eyes were fierce and hawkish. "You promise you'll do what you can?" she asked.

"I promise," said Harry.

"We  _all_ promise," said Ginny.

"Me too," piped up Gilderoy Lockhart.

It was on that note that Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione left the Closed Ward. It felt to him that they'd been there for a very long time, but the sun was in nearly the same position of sky as when they'd gone in. Harry shaded his eyes, and looked around, feeling slightly disoriented. Cars honked and swerved on the busy street.

"Banshee or siren?" Harry asked them quietly. Muggles were streaming by; most ignored them, but some gave their robes funny looks. After the quiet of the Closed Ward, it was odd to stand in such a crowd.

"Siren," Ginny said definitively. "We could go to Hogwarts  _right now_  and find... whatever it was."

"But the banshee..." Hermione looked troubled. She waved her hand. "All right. All right. Siren first, since Newt knows what to do."

Harry looked at Ron, who shrugged. "Why don't we send an owl to Seamus, see if he knows that Ee-fa Finnegan? That way we can make progress on both?"

"You're brilliant," said Hermione.

First, after ducking into an alley away from Muggle eyes, they Apparated to Grimmauld Place to retrieve the cloak, and a few other things Hermione thought they might need. Ron scribbled out a note to Seamus and sent it. Harry felt suddenly light-hearted, as though they were on the right path.

"We can do this," he said warmly.

"'Course we can," agreed Ron.

It was with a great sense of well-being and purpose that the four arrived in Hogsmeade. It was one of those rare, winter days in Scotland: the sky was blue, the air was cold, and the shopkeepers and residents were bustling to and fro, as though wanting to take the time to do their errands while it was so beautiful outside. Harry waved to Madame Puddifoot.

They trekked up to Hogwarts just as clouds were beginning to gather over the mountains. A cold wind began to blow, and Harry shivered. Ginny leaned over and whispered a charm that had Harry's robes began to radiate with warmth. "Thanks, Ginny," he said. She smiled at him in a way that made Harry want to rush their errand and get back home.

They'd just gone through the gate when Hagrid came into view.

Harry stopped short.

"Hagrid?" he said tentatively.

Hagrid's eyes widened with alarm when he saw them. "Harry!" he said in the loudest whisper Harry had ever heard. "What're ye doin' here? Ye can' be here!" Then he looked around furtively.

Harry was taken aback, and he exchanged startled looks with the others. The situation must be truly dire if Hagrid was looking  _furtive_. "I – we need to look for something," he said.

"The other professors… Harry, they'll – do sommat to you if they see you," said Hagrid. Then he pulled Harry in for a rough hug. "Good ter see you. But you got your cloak?"

Harry pulled it out of his robes and swirled it around his shoulders. "We were just going to do that," he said. And it was true. As soon as they got in sight of Hogwarts, they were going to disguise themselves.  _Silly_ , Harry thought to himself, some of his good mood dissipating.  _We should have done this in Hogsmeade._

"You're right, Hagrid," said Hermione. "That was a little careless."

"Ye sure ye gotta be here?" Hagrid asked. The anxiety in his tone increased Harry's own.

"We have to, Hagrid," said Harry. "We need to find something." Cold wind ruffled his hair. The castle that awaited them looked suddenly foreboding.

They put the notice-me-not charms on, and Hermione performed neat bits of Transfiguration that disguised their features even under the charm.

"You know," Ron said thoughtfully, "maybe we ought to take some of the cheering charms down. They're making us so cheerful we can't think straight."

Harry could not help but agree.

They left Hagrid behind, staring after them, with a promise that they would let him know as developments unfolded. It was without incident that they entered Hogwarts itself. The familiar halls were very quiet; Harry figured the last class was still in session. For a few minutes, Harry enjoyed the sensation of being at school. With Ron and Hermione walking ahead of him, and Ginny at his side, it was almost like they were attending Hogwarts again.

But when they came to a broken section of the castle, Harry could no longer pretend. It was as though a giant had scooped out a chunk of the walkway — and probably it had. He  _hated_ that none of the professors had repaired it. Harry wanted to do so so bad that his palm itched, but they had agreed during their walk up from Hagrid's that they needed to be as unobtrusive as possible.

Harry felt a twinge of unease as they came to the bog Fred and George had created. Students no longer had to be punted across it, but it still stood. Flitwick had left it up as a monument to the excellent charms work. Where it once might have reminded Harry of the brightest parts of his fifth year, all he saw was the bog of Ekizdris's memories.

"Harry." Ginny's hand curled around his bicep. She seemed to know exactly where to touch to avoid his still-healing wounds. "We have to keep moving."

"I—yes, sorry," he said.

The sense of well-being was nearly gone by the time they reached the top of Ravenclaw Tower, banished by that visual reminder of what they were up against.

"This seems like the most likely way for Amycus to have come down," said Hermione in a whisper. "But he could have gone down the back way… why don't we split up?"

Harry and Ginny quickly agreed, and Ron and Hermione disappeared around the corner. Then they methodically began to search. It was hampered by the students returning from their last classes. Harry had never been more grateful for the notice-me-not charm, or for the strength of the Elder Wand. The students' eyes slid right by him and Ginny.

"Harry!" she said in a harsh whisper, once the students had filed past them. "Look – Hermione forgot about this!"

They were a few floors below the Ravenclaw common room, and Ginny was pointing out one of the entrances to the massive system of pipes that connected all of Hogwarts. Their eyes met, remembering that this was how the basilisk had made its way through the school. Harry squeezed her hand. "Let's check it out," he said. "Hold on – I have an idea." If Amycus had used the pipe system, it was possible his body had never been found. They might even be able to smell the rot. Harry cast a supersensory charm on himself. The world came into sharp focus, and he took off his glasses, folded them up, and placed them in the pocket of his robes.

He sniffed. There was something…

"Fantastic idea, Ginny," he breathed.

They slid down the pipes together. Ginny sat in front of him, and Harry had his arms wrapped around her. It would have been quite pleasant had the smell of decay not been growing stronger. Ginny lit her wand once they reached a landing.

Something crunched under their feet. Harry did not particularly want to know what.

"We must be  _under_ the castle by now," he breathed.

Every few seconds, a new whiff of rot reached him. He leaned up against the wall. "Give me a second, Ginny," he said, trying not to vomit.

But Ginny was already moving forward. "There's the body, and – oh! I see it!" she sounded eager. "There it is! His hand's right on it… what's left of his hand. Ugh."

Harry looked up. "What is it?"

"It's a music box, the kind you open and something plays," said Ginny.

Harry nodded, wishing he'd not given himself super senses. He swallowed several times. With a wave of his wand, the sensory charm came off. The same instant it did, he heard a muffled sound. "What was that?"

There was a long pause. "Nothing," Ginny said briskly. "I must have knocked something - disturbed the corpse. Its hand moved."

Harry covered his nose with his robes, and moved forward, squatting down next to the partially decayed body, and examining the music box. "It doesn't even look like anything special," he said. In fact, it was very plain. He examined it without touching: it was a solid, dark wood, adorned with the silver filigree of a willow tree. It seemed impossible to Harry that something so awful had come from something so… plain. The only disturbing thing about it was the fact the latch was undone, and it could fall open…

Harry used his magic to latch it, and wrapped it up with blue coils. All the well-being from Grimmauld Place was gone, Harry realized. In its place was a cold anxiety. Harry looked up; Ginny's bright brown eyes were gleaming in the light of her wand. It was her turn to hold her robes over her nose.

"Can we go?" she asked in a muffled voice.

"Yeah," Harry said distractedly. "Yeah, let's go."

Ginny led the way out of the maze of pipes and arches, using a handy mapping spell Harry admired. "I think we need to go up this way," said Ginny.

Her hand wrapped around his forearm, right over his wounds. Harry swallowed back a yelp, and let her lead him. It was almost a relief when she let go during a particularly narrow section.

Harry was so intent on the task of getting out of Hogwarts and back to Newt Scamander's house in Dorset that he did not notice for far too long that Peeves was following his every footstep. A chance glance to the left, and Harry caught a glimpse of him, bobbing there with a maniac's grin on his translucent face. He nearly wet himself. "Gin—Ginny," he said in a harsh whisper.

"What?" she answered.

"Peeves is here."

She stopped in her tracks, and they traded a frightened look. Harry had not forgotten from their last visit how Peeves had changed.

Here in the tunnels and pipes under Hogwarts, the change was even creepier. Harry backed up a step and groped for Ginny's hand, but she was further away than he thought. Peeves was no longer the jester Harry remembered... malice seemed to wave off him in waves. Harry held up his wand.

The grin on the poltergeist's face grew impossibly wide. Slowly, without taking his eyes off of Peeves, Harry squatted, and fumbled for a rock. " _Waddiwasi,_ " said Harry. The rock shot up Peeves's right nostril, and the poltergeist flew up and away, cursing in a maniacal tone.

Harry ran after Ginny. She'd nearly made it out... Harry could see daylight down one of the corridors. Now she was climbing up a short, muck-covered pipe, and Harry was right behind her. They tumbled out, in a back hallway.

"Watch it, Harry!" Ginny cried when he landed on her.

"Sorry, Ginny," said Harry.

Too late, he realized they weren't alone, that Professor McGonagall was standing five feet away from them, and that she must have heard them use each other's names. Silence swelled as Harry looked at her with horror.

" _Revelio,"_ she said coldly. Harry felt his charms melt away.

His instincts kicked in before his brain did. Harry grabbed Ginny, and launched them out of the way of McGonagall's first spell. "PROTEGO!" he shouted.

The force of her hex made Harry's shield ring like a bell when it hit. And she was already prepared with another. Stones were pulled out of the walls, and McGonagall directed them into a menacing shape. "You will not threaten this school again, Potter," she said in a frigid, raspy tone.

"I would never threaten this school," said Harry.

Her laugh was full of scorn. "Ha! All your tricks — all your  _dangerous tricks —_ they are  _over_ , Potter."

"They are," agreed Harry.

McGonagall's face went stark and white. "I don't understand why you would have lured He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to a school full of children—"

"I had to get the Horcrux," said Harry. He kept Ginny behind him, keeping his eyes trained on the tip of McGonagall's wand. His shield charm remained between them.

"How could you lure him here, and then try to flee? I am  _ashamed_ that you were ever placed in Gryffindor."

"No, you aren't," Harry told her. "I didn't try to leave you all to die. I would never. I didn't leave then, and I'm not leaving now."

Her face twisted, and she rasped out a spell—

Harry scrambled away, pulling Ginny along with him, careful not to let any portion of their bodies be uncovered by his shield. They moved sideways like crabs.

The stones following them wavered, and McGonagall clutched her heart. Harry froze, wanting to protect, but also to flee...

Help arrived in the form of Hermione. She skidded into sight behind McGonagall, and sent a short, quick spell jetting toward their old Transfiguration professor. Harry cast the quickest cushioning charm of his life, and McGonagall toppled on to it. The four of them stood there, staring at their unconscious professor.

"I had to do it," whispered Hermione.

Harry quickly redid his and Ginny's charms, while Ron and Hermione took care of McGonagall. Hermione erased her memory of seeing them. They were cautious leaving that corridor, and it was not until they were out the great doors, and down the hill toward Hogsmeade that Harry began to breathe easier. Ginny seemed especially eager to get away, she was so far ahead of them.

"We did get it, Ginny found it," Harry said, once they were all out the gates. He kept looking behind him, worried another professor would see through their disguise.

"Good," said Hermione. Her face was drawn and pensive.

Harry slowed to a stop, thinking quickly. He touched the music box in his pocket.  _It's a music box,_ Ginny'd said. Harry looked up at the darkening sky.

A distraction in the form of a patronus appeared before them. It was a fox, and spoke with Seamus's voice. " _Meet at Hog's Head?_ "

Ron sent a reply, telling him they were headed there now. Harry sped up, until he was walking directly behind Ginny. Her long red hair swayed from side to side as she strode forward.

"Did you hear we're meeting Seamus at the Hog's Head?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said.

Harry caught up to walk beside her. They were silent until they reached Hogsmeade, marching side by side, not touching. The sun set behind the mountains just as they reached the outskirts of town. The temperature dropped ten degrees in an instant, and Harry grew even colder.

He opened the door to the Hog's Head for Ginny, and took a second to gather himself, hand resting on the gnarled wood. He patted the box they'd found with his other hand.

 _It's a music box,_ she'd said.

Seamus was waiting for them. Aberforth had lit a fire in the grate, and for once, there were other customers besides them. Seamus had chosen a quiet, private booth and was nursing a firewhiskey. Four others waited for them at the table, and Ginny immediately knocked hers back.

"I'm going to grab a butterbeer," said Harry, who needed to keep a clear head. By the time he got back to the table, Ron and Hermione were settling in.

"So you want to hear about banshees," Seamus said without preamble. Harry was startled to see he was pale and trembling a little. "Me grandmam... she—she's Aoife Finnigan."

"Was that why your boggart's a banshee?" Ron asked.

"Yeah," said Seamus.

Despite his distraction, Harry listened to Seamus's tale with growing horror. Lockhart had done a real disservice, Harry realized, by making the story glamorous. Until now, even after Ekizdris's memories, Harry had a hard time taking the threat of a banshee seriously, because some part of him thought them silly, because Lockhart had been the one to introduce them to him.

Seamus's story blew the last vestiges of that away.

"Me cousin got took by the banshee," he began. "We didn't know one had moved in, you see... get me a refill, won't you, mate?"

Ron made to stand up, but Harry slid his glass of firewhiskey across the table. "I need a clear head," explained Harry. "I've — got an errand to run after this."

Hermione gave him a sharp look.

Harry looked at Ginny.

Seamus told them the full story, the firewhiskey loosening his tongue. Before any of the adults knew what was going on, the banshee had taken one of the Finnigan boys. "I remember he was always running off into the bog... he knew it better than any of us," he said. "Then he never came home, and I never seen the adults so scared. A little girl went missing, and grandmam said she knew what was what. I remember something... she had to go round up the ghosts. They all fled when she came — that's why the Hogwarts ghosts are missing, isn't it?"

"Looks like it," said Ron.

Harry was distracted, watching Ginny play with her glass of firewhiskey, her hair fairly glowing in the light of the fire. He would have to find all the ghosts who had fled Hogwarts, it looked like.

"So she and someone else — I forget who, and I've already asked me mam, and she don't remember either. Grandmam, that person, and the ghosts went out into the bog, and only grandmam came out," said Seamus. "She said — she said the ghosts led the banshee away, and she won't say anything else. She just... gets this look on her face. She cried for a year. I was real young, but I remember that."

"Well," Ginny said acerbically, "I think we can trust that Harry's going to do something stupid and noble."

A small, uncomfortable silence fell after her words. Harry's mind was racing frantically. Ghosts... and Newt Scamander had said he'd need all three. Harry'd wanted to believe that meant Ginny and Ron and Hermione. He shoved his hands in his pockets and clutched at the Elder Wand and the Cloak.

"I'm sure Harry's going to do everything he can," Hermione said softly. "We all are."

"Oh yes," said Harry, feeling a burning behind his eyes as he looked at Ginny, who was so resolutely not looking at him. "I'll do anything."

"Just don't put anyone else in danger this time," she said.

"I won't," promised Harry. He stood up from the table, ignoring the look of horror on Ron's face. "I've got to — I need to — I have an errand to run."

He cast one last look at Ginny's cold profile, and sped out into the night. Harry did not even bother with warming charms, but sprinted up the lane toward the school. Once he reached the far end of the Forbidden Forest, he lit his wand, and plunged in, heedless and uncaring of the danger.


	23. Call to Arms

 

It was late afternoon the next day that Harry finally returned to Grimmauld Place. He was sweaty, filthier than he had ever been in his life, covered in forest muck, and had a furious and struggling George Weasley with him. "I brought George," he announced unnecessarily. To Harry's relief, Ron and Hermione were alone in the library.

"Where is she?"

"She's up in your room, sleeping," said Ron.

"I dosed her," said Hermione. "She couldn't sleep."

Harry slumped into a chair, feeling the weight of exhaustion in every part of his body. He'd gagged George, but could still hear his muffled shouts, and flicked his wand to silence him. Harry allowed himself a minute to just sit in the quiet. Either Hermione or Ron lit a fire in the grate, and Harry's eyes sagged closed.  _Just for a second_ , Harry thought.  _I'll tell them everything in a..._

"—no. Let him sleep."

"Effing Harry Potter let everyone—"

" _Shut up, George._ "

"HE ABDUCTED ME."

"I don't effing care—"

"Ron. That's not helping."

"YOU'RE TURNING YOUR BACK ON—"

Harry opened his eyes just as Ron put a silencing charm on his brother. Someone had moved him over to the sofa, taken his shoes off, and thrown a blanket over him. He was still filthy, and — to Harry's embarrassment — he stank. He forced himself upright. "How long?" he asked.

"Almost eighteen hours," said Hermione. She shoved a cup of tea into his hand.

"Where's Ginny?"

"We are keeping her asleep for now," said Hermione.

"Yeah," said Ron. "D'you think she'd want to stay awake for this? No."

Harry nodded. "I need to tell you what happened, but I — really need a shower."

"Plus, we've already figured out what you went to get," Ron said affably.

"Right. Well." Harry jerked to his feet, skirted around George's prone body, and headed out of the library. He still felt groggy, and he took the stairs slowly. He was avoiding Ginny, he realized, as he paused on the third floor landing.

He forced himself onward.

She was asleep in the bed. Ginny was usually fairly active in her sleep; now she was unnaturally still. The covers were neatly folded under her breasts, her arms hung limply at her sides, and her hands were lightly curled. Harry leaned down and listened to her breathe.

He stripped in the bathroom, and turned on the shower as hot as it would go. It was near scalding, but Harry stood under the spray for a long, long time, soaping himself up, rinsing himself off, and soaping up again. His eyes were burning.

Once he was warm and clean, he dried off, and went to their room to find clean clothes. Ginny was still asleep, still looking almost unreal.

He found pants, trousers, a shirt, and robes, and pulled them on. Then he flicked his wand, and Ginny rose into the air. He floated her in front of him. She had put on a blue nightgown, and it draped over her legs in a way that — despite everything — Harry could not help but admire.

She floated in front of him, eyes still shut, and Harry was careful not to make her bump into anything. "All right," he said, when he got to the library. "We're here."

Ron snorted. George struggled, eyes popping with rage. If he hadn't had the silencing charm put on him, Harry was sure he'd be screaming.

It was Ron who said what Harry was thinking: "I have had it up to here" — he indicated the middle of his brow — "with your drama. You're cursed. I get that. D'you have to be so cursed annoying?"

George fell still.

"I have the Laughing Potion," said Hermione. "I brewed it at extra strength... Rowan sent an owl suggesting that... I'm hoping it'll give us more time with them."

It took Harry several tries to get the ritual right. It was more difficult now to reach for the calm he needed, now he was almost positive Ginny was at stake. Harry's hands trembled as he started over for the fourth time.  _The stakes are just so damn high._

Finally, he did it.

Ginny's patronus was nearly perfect, except for small, mottled shadows over its left knee, right eye, and both buttocks. It shuddered at Harry's tough. Harry heard a roaring in his ears at the confirmation.

"Wake her up," he told Hermione, after she'd poured out half the Laughing Potion, and started the process of impermanently healing Ginny's patronus. "And — and we need some privacy."

Ron rolled George over, and then, when Ginny's eyes were fluttering open, he and Hermione quietly left the room.

"Hi," Harry said, as soon as she woke up.

Ginny immediately froze. "Oh God. Oh God." She began to panic, and Harry wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight.

"It's going to be okay," Harry whispered against her hair. "We're going to fix this. We're almost there."

Ginny came undone, sobbing against him in a way she never had before. Harry stroked her hair. "This is m-m-my  _nightmare_ ," she said into his shoulder. "Oh God, Harry. Harry." Then she took his face in his and kissed him desperately. Harry kissed her back. The only thing keeping from totally losing it was the fact he had already done so, alone in the forest, searching every inch of the place where, last year, he had gone to die.

_There are worse things than death._

Sirius had said that long ago.

It was true.

Ginny pulled back a little. "What are we going to do?"

To answer her, Harry reached into his pocket, and pulled out the Resurrection Stone. "Newt said I'd need all three. I was hoping he meant you, Ron, and Hermione. But if I have to — to use all three of them, whatever that means, I will. Whatever it takes, Ginny." He folded her hands into his, so they clutched the stone together, and leaned his forehead against hers. "I'll do anything."

"That's what I'm afraid of," said Ginny. It was almost a wail. "I can't lose you. I can't."

"You won't," Harry assured her.

"Was I awful?" Ginny asked. "Like... them? I don't really remember the particulars, just that — that music. It's impossible to ignore, and then — these slimy thoughts kept intruding. Oh God. It's  _terrible_."

"You weren't awful," Harry assured her. "I noticed almost right away, because... I dunno. I kept reaching for you, and you were too far away."

"That's not me," said Ginny.

"I know."

They kissed then. Harry put every bit of what he was feeling for her as they kissed. He didn't want to let her go. Then she pulled away.

"Promise me that — that when you fix this, you'll forgive me?"

"You're already forgiven," said Harry. "This isn't your fault. I mean, hopefully you don't try to attack me or anything, but Ginny... you're my wife. My — my lover. My friend." He'd had several hours in the forest in which all he'd done was list all the ways Ginny was important to him, and then imagine having all that ripped away. "I'd do anything for you. Forgiving you for something that isn't your fault isn't even going to be difficult."

She nestled up against him. Harry stroked her back... her hair...

Hermione poked her head in. "Have you had enough privacy?"

"Are they still dressed?" Ron's voice was muffled through the door.

"Prat," said Ginny.

Harry was relieved to see that Rowan Khanna's suggestion had worked. Ginny remained herself even as Harry worked the ritual that pulled George's sleeping patronus out of him. He went back to her side, even as George swore.

"Effing curse," said George, shuddering. His face was red from being pressed into the carpet so long. "So you two are married now?"

"Yeah," said Harry.

"You were sort of there," said Ginny.

"Hermione and I got married, too," said Ron. He summoned the album Ginny'd made of their wedding, and showed George the pictures.

George squawked as he saw the pictures he was in, and how he was dressed. "But — What?! I don't remember this!"

"Lee had you unconscious the whole time," Harry told him. He had to admit they'd used George as a prop in quite a few pictures, many of which were not very dignified.

"We were really glad one of you could be there," Ginny said quietly.

George jabbed his finger at a the picture of him, in a frilly Muggle dress, wearing a party hat, and reclining unconscious on a table. "Don't tell me you were feeling sentimental when you took that!"

"Oh please," Ron scoffed. "You would have done the same thing."

They ended up telling George everything. Desperation made its presence known in many ways: how Ginny clung to Harry, how Harry could not take his eyes off of Ginny, how every other sentence was punctuated by Harry promising that he would do anything. And he would have, even just for Ginny's family and their friends. But now that  _Ginny_ was affected… it changed everything. It opened up new, desperate possibilities.

"You need to get back on Potterwatch," said George, once the stream of information ended. "You need to tell the people listening – round us up, pen us, keep us incarcerated… whatever it takes."

"And I don't particularly want to be awake for everything," Ginny added. She looked at Harry. He could see her vulnerability.  _This is my worst nightmare_ , she'd said. "I don't want to say – or do – anything."

"We know," scoffed Ron.

"And we aren't waiting anymore," said Harry. "You lot have been cursed for months, and you're still… mostly all right. But Amycus died right away, Alecto said. And Alecto died right around Christmas. I'm not taking the chance that Ginny is going to worsen faster than you."

George rubbed his face with his hands. "Merlin, Harry. Merlin. You really deserve the quiet life after all of this."

Harry, who had an inkling of what he was going to have to do, could not help but agree.

And then, at that precise moment, Ginny's hand pulled out of his grip, and her hips shifted away from him. By the time Harry turned his head to look at her, she was gone.

"I think we all deserve the quiet life," she said waspishly. "It's not just Harry who is  _so tired_  of all of this. In fact, Harry doesn't—"

Hermione's spell hit her, and Ginny slumped over, fast asleep.

Harry gave her a reproving look.

"Don't look at me like that," Hermione said sharply. "It's what she wanted. Harry, there is no reason for her to be awake. No reason for her to experience those thoughts. She  _wanted_  us to put her to sleep."

"I know… but you just didn't have to do it so suddenly…"

"Oh! I almost forgot!" said Hermione. She flicked her wand, and her little beaded bag flew toward her. "We still need to examine Neville's memory. In all the… turmoil, I almost forgot."

Harry forced himself to sit still while Hermione added Neville's silvery memory into the telly spelly. He had to force his eyes away from sleeping Ginny. But when he did focus his attention on it… "Show us again," Harry ordered. He watched as Augusta Longbottom entered a parlor – there was no other word for a place so old-fashioned – with Nearly Headless Nick floating at her heels. "You have a visitor," Mrs. Longbottom said unnecessarily.

The scene shifted, as though Neville jerked his head. "What does he want?" he said in a surly voice.

"I wanted to say," said the Gryffindor house ghost, "that I am sorry for disappearing as I did those months ago."

"I didn't even know you were gone. Is this about  _Potter_?" Neville spat.

"It's about you," Nearly Headless Nick said gently. "I want to help you. I can help you."

"I don't need help," said Neville.

"Neville," Mrs. Longbottom said sharply. "You are wasting away. I do not know if Sir Nicholas can help you, I cannot say. But you need  _someone_ —"

"I NEED YOU TO LISTEN TO ME!" Neville screamed. Harry could see spit flying.

"I know something about death," said Nearly Headless Nick, as though Neville had not just screamed into his translucent face. "I do not know all of it – there are many mysteries that elude me, as I have chosen to remain here as I am – but I do know that – that the death that has its hand on you… you do not deserve it. None of you deserve it. I would like to help. I would like to lead you away from where you are going."

"Where am I going? I'M NOT GOING ANYWHERE!"

"When you change your mind – if you are able to – I give you permission to summon me," Nearly Headless Nick said sadly. "I will teach you to summon me, and, indeed, all the ghosts of Hogwarts."

The scene shifted again, as though Neville got up to leave.

" _You sit down!_ " his grandmother commanded. There was a flash of blue light, and the scene went sideways.

And Harry watched as Nearly Headless Nick taught him how to summon what he needed.

He scrubbed his face. "Again," he said.

Harry watched it four times, his thoughts growing more and more coherent with every viewing. "The ghosts will lead them back," he said.

"Back from where?" Hermione asked gently.

Harry shook his head, unable to articulate to Hermione what he understood. The understanding came from a well inside of him; a depth he had not known he had. "We need to go on Potterwatch – we need to send an owl to Lucius Malfoy. We need to get Newt Scamander to take care of – to take care of the siren part of the curse. After it's broken, I think the banshee will come."

Clarity had come after the storm in the forest.

Ron and Hermione did not argue, did not question, but leapt into action. Ron left first, to go get Newt Scamander. Hermione went to find Lee. By this time, George was gone, and Harry was left alone with the two Weasleys. Harry looked at sleeping Ginny as he made a list of everything they needed to do, and went over it twice, three times, and a fourth. What he had said was true: he was not going to take the chance that the strength of the curse on Ginny was growing more rapidly than that of the curse on the other Weasleys.

They were out of time.

Harry's stomach squeezed, and he left the library to perform a suddenly necessary task. When he got back, Ron had appeared with Newt.

"Mr. Scamander," Harry said, trying to keep the utter desperation out of his voice. "Ginny was cursed – did Ron tell you? We need to break the curse immediately. We have the music box… it's a music box. I guess it wasn't shut all the way… it got Ginny." With great effort, Harry forced himself to pull it together. "I think I – I think I know how we're going to get rid of the banshee. But I – I – I need you for the siren."

Newt Scamander had given him the impression of scattered brilliance. Now his focus was tight and intense, even as Harry felt on the brink. There was something in Newt's eyes that steadied Harry; empathy, he thought.  _He understands_ , Harry thought with relief.

"I know how to be rid of it," Newt promised.

"Do you need the music box, or…?"

"I need the music box, and I am fairly certain I need the people who have been affected to be within a reasonable proximity," said Newt.

"Better not chance it, we need them all together for the banshee, anyway," said Harry.

Hermione arrived just then, with all the equipment needed for Potterwatch. Ron wasted no time, but helped set it up. Harry closed his eyes, searched hard for calm, and breathed slowly and evenly. There was a familiar pop, and a static sound as Potterwatch went live.

"It's time to break the curse on our friends and families," Harry said. His voice was thready, and he cleared his throat. "It's time to break the curse," he said. "I can't do this alone. I need all of you – anyone who is listening – we need your help. The curse needs to be broken at Hogwarts… we need every cursed person – Hermione's going to list them off for you in a minute – we need every cursed person to be at Hogwarts. We also – obviously – need all the students to be evacuated."

Harry took a deep breath. "Hogsmeade should be evacuated as well. There will be a banshee coming to school. I don't want to risk the residents." His mind raced. "Be  _gentle_  when you round these people up. They're our friends, our loved ones. They've been strange and dark these last months, but we all know it isn't them. I am asking – begging, really – that if you can produce a patronus… please stay with us at Hogwarts. Fight with us. We are going to need all the help we can get."

 

 

 

 


	24. The Siren's Song

"Let's leave Ginny and George here," suggested Hermione. "Then get Mr. and Mrs. Weasley."

Harry hated to do it, but he bound sleeping Ginny to the couch. He let his hand linger in her hair, stealing a moment before the storm broke. He smoothed it, wondering if he even dared hope that everything would be back to normal by tomorrow. He let himself imagine it, distantly aware that Hermione had already left, and he needed to get going. But he wanted to imagine tomorrow, he and Ginny in bed together... everything the way it was.

Reluctantly, he pulled his hand from her hair, turned, and found Ron staring at him with an uncharacteristically grim look on his face. "I wanted to talk to you a second," he said. His hand clasped Harry's shoulder in a tight, unbreakable grip.

"What?" Harry said apprehensively.

"Last year, Hermione and I took our eyes off you for a second, and then you were gone. I need to know that's not going to happen again."

Harry swallowed. Did Ron suspect—?

"Listen, I—"

"No, you listen. I don't know what you've got going, but I think I can recognize when you've got something mental going on in your head." Ron pointed at Ginny. "You better not leave it to me to explain to her why you're dead."

"I won't," Harry managed to rasp out. "Ron, I — I think I've got it figured out. But I'm trying to hold it all together in my head, and it's taking  _everything_."

"Well, that I get. It's not like you're Hermione, with the massive brain." Ron looked very serious when he continued. "I trust you, you know. I know you're going to get 'em uncursed, and Hermione and I are going to do whatever it takes to help. I just don't trust you not to sacrifice yourself to do it."

"I—"

"Not a single person would ask you to — to — die by banshee, whatever that means."

Harry took this to mean Ron had figured out that fey creatures liked their little trades. "And yet they all know I'd do it if I had to." When Ron got that mulish look on his face that Harry was much too acquainted with, he added hastily: "I don't think I'll have to. I don't want to. I have... a lot to live for."

"You better come out of this alive, Harry."

Harry jerked his head in a nod.

There was a popping sound, and Harry was relieved to see Hermione... relieved until she opened her mouth. "Did you have a talk with him?" she asked swiftly.

"Yeah, he said he won't do anything mental."

Harry felt pinned under Hermione's gaze. Then she relented, and nodded. "I'm glad that has been cleared up."

"Did you go to the Burrow?" Harry asked, before his friends could call him mental again.

"Yes," said Hermione. "Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are there, and Charlie — fortunately. I had to place a compulsion charm on the old clock... that should draw Percy there, and we can bag them all together."

"All right. We should—"

But Harry was interrupted by the first patronus. A fox appeared, and said with Seamus's voice: "I got Dean, and I'm going to go grab Luna — her dad says he has her stunned and waiting. We just taking them to the Great Hall?"

Ron and Hermione looked at Harry. He thought about it, then nodded. The Great Hall would be as good as any.

Then more patronuses arrived.

Lee Jordan's hawk: "Me and my brothers are headed to the Ministry... Dean Fawcett says he's got Kingsley locked down..."

A silvery cat dropped down, and said with Eleison Clowder's voice: "We are headed to Bill and Fleur's. Rowan has Neville."

Tulip Karasu's panda: "I've rounded up some Auror friends, Harry Potter... we are going to evacuate the school."

Warmth started somewhere in Harry's stomach, and radiated outward. Despite his fear and worry, it was quite bolstering to know how many people were helping.

Aberforth's goat: "Headed to Hogwarts. Hagrid will need help with the professors."

Augusta Longbottom's goose: "Hannah Abbott lives just down the way. I will see to her."

Several unknown patronuses arrived at once, proclaiming they were on his side, were retrieving Susan Bones, Cho Chang, and Terry Boot. A familiar voice that Harry couldn't place said she was going to get Justin Finch-Fletchley.

A large, silvery bear took up nearly the entire room. "This is all of us from Puddlemere United, Harry. We've got Oliver, and we're rounding up his old Quidditch friends."

It was brilliant. One by one, everyone on Hermione's list was accounted for. Harry felt a surge of hope.

"All right," said Harry, once the activity had died down. "Let's go get the Weasleys."

Three sharp cracks echoed in the air just outside the gate of the Burrow. It was cold, unseasonally so. A cold mist reached out from the trees at Harry's back, and he knew without even having to look that the dementors from the past summer had expanded their territory despite the Ministry's wards. Still, he did look, and his skin crawled. The woods seemed to breathe with a dark, waiting energy. The mist was like a questing hand, reaching for the Burrow and those who resided in it.

Harry shook his head, and focused again on the crooked house. Ron had just muttered "Homenum revelio." Four shapes came whooshing back.

"Percy's there," Ron said, satisfied.

They stole across the muddy backyard, avoiding frozen puddles. The back door was ajar, but the kitchen was dark and silent. Harry tripped over one of the Wellington boots, and caught himself on the door. It banged against the wall, sounding like someone arriving by Apparition.

"Graceful," muttered Ron.

They'd frozen, waiting for a sign of disturbance from inside the house. Nothing happened. Harry crept in, the hair standing on the back of his neck. There was a candle burning in the window. It had burned down to the last bits of wax; the smell that wafted from it was citrusy, but it couldn't quite cover the smell. Harry did not know how to describe it. It wasn't the decay of bodies, or the smell of sickness.

It was damp earth, and stagnant pools. It smelled as though the Burrow were right at the edge of a bog. Harry suppressed a shudder, and covered his nose.

He moved across the kitchen—

—and threw himself to the side as a jet of green light surged past him so close the heat of it burned his arm.

"Don't move," said Bill.

Harry's stomach dropped through the floor.

Then jets of light were bouncing back and forth as Bill — and then Mr. Weasley — attacked, Ron and Hermione countered, and Harry tried to protect all of them. None of the spells Mr. Weasley and Bill were using were very strong...

Harry looked closely at them. Their faces were gaunt and unwell, and after the first burst of energy, they were now moving in slow motion, as though underwater. Mr. Weasley fell forward. Harry caught him, and righted him.

"Don't. Touch. Me," he said.

"Right," said Harry. He sent a sleeping charm at Mr. Weasley, but Bill managed to bat it away. His face was haggard, and his werewolf scar was an angry red.

"How dare you come here!" Mrs. Weasley stood in the door, looking crazed. Her robes were food-stained and put on backward, and she was only wearing one sock. Charlie was right behind his mother, swaying on his feet, holding on to the wall. He was wearing saggy boxers and nothing else. Mr. Weasley and Bill were in a similar state, Harry realized.

Harry could not afford to be distracted by pity, and he shoved it aside. The next instant, he saw an opening. He, Ron, and Hermione shouted at once — and all three hostile Weasleys went down.

"Oh God," said Hermione.

Ron looked down at his parents. There were tears in his eyes, and Harry clasped his shoulder. "We — we need to get them dressed," he said in a thick voice. "Harry's gonna break the curse. They'll come back... Mum'll die if anyone sees her like this."

Harry and Hermione nodded, and Ron hurried off to find clothes for his family. "These will have to do," he said when he finally came back. He was holding up old dress robes. "Everything else is filthy."

It took all of them to get their captives dressed. Ron and Harry floated Mr. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie into the living room, giving Mrs. Weasley privacy while Hermione fixed her outfit. "We should've checked on them," said Harry, feeling guilty. There was a coat of grime on Bill that took several cleansing spells to get off.

"I should've thought about it," said Ron.

There was a shriek and a bang from the kitchen, and Ron and Harry leapt over prone bodies, threw themselves into the kitchen, and found Hermione standing over a stunned Percy Weasley. "Sorry. He — he surprised me," said Hermione.

Once the Weasleys were cleaned off and dressed, and Hermione had cast a few powerful charms ("Just so they don't have to come home to a — to this," she gestured at the mess in the kitchen.) that did not quite manage to dispel the scent of the bog, they floated their captives out to the end of the yard.

"Ron, you and Hermione take them. I need to go get Ginny and George," said Harry.

"First, I have to send a message to Eleison... tell her we have Bill," said Hermione, and summoned her otter patronus.

Harry disapparated while she was sending the message to Eleison.

Ginny and George were right where he'd left them. Now that Harry saw her, he eyed her nightgown critically. Like Mrs. Weasley, she would not be happy to come back to herself and find herself so undressed in a public setting. He thundered up the three flights of stairs, and launched himself into their room. He chose a pair of blue and white spangled stockings, a matching witch's cap, and the toga-like robes she liked to wear out and about.

Harry returned to the library, dressed her, patted his robes to make sure he had the Wand, the Cloak, and the Stone, and apparated to Hogsmeade.

The lane leading up to Hogwarts from sleepy village was filled with floating bodies and their captors. Everyone had had the same thought to make it easier for themselves. None of the cursed ones were conscious. Harry balanced George and Ginny in the air ahead of him.

They bobbed in the wind; Harry was trying to make their ride less turbulent when Xeno Lovegood hurried over. He looked nearly as ghastly as the cursed Weasleys. "Harry," he said. "Harry, I – I can't lose Luna. I feel like I've been losing her little by little these last months. I can't lose her. She lost her mother so young… my wife…"

The man looked like he was about to pull out his own hair.

"I promise," Harry said solemnly. "I promise, you won't lose Luna."

Xeno pulled his fingers through his dandelion-fuzz hair. There were sweatstains in the armpit of his robes.

An alarmed, panicked shout pulled Harry from the conversation. Everyone Harry could see had stopped, and some were even moving backward. "See you at the castle," he muttered, and hurried forward.

He stopped, shocked, when he realized what was happening. The Dementors that the Ministry had contained in the forest the day Harry was kicked out of the Auror training program had escaped the wards. A slow, sinuous coil of darkness rose from the treetops, and Harry's heart nearly failed.  _Not now, not now, not now, not now_ , he chanted silently. It must have been all the cursed ones… they'd given the dementors the impetus and motive to break down the wards. "CAST YOUR PATRONUS!" Harry bellowed. "CAST IT NOW!" He did not wait to see if the others heard him, but used the Elder Wand to cast as many as he could.

It slowed the tide, but Harry knew it couldn't last forever. They needed to get safely inside…

Harry was running up the sloped lane, and the others were doing the same. It was no longer an almost-stately procession. The floating bodies looked sea-tossed. Harry came panting up to Ron and Hermione, who had the Weasleys in a sort of pinwheel. Harry added Ginny and George to the rest of them, grateful he'd thought to change her into a less revealing outfit.

"Keep her safe," Harry ordered.

"We will, mate," said Ron.

"Of course we will," said Hermione.

Then Harry sprinted up to the castle. Something caught in his chest every time he took a breath. He overtook an entire Quidditch team, and tossed them a wave; he hoped they knew how grateful he was for their help, but he did not have time to pause.

As soon as he reached Hogwarts itself, he threw open the doors, noting it was silent as a tomb. He gripped the Elder Wand – the wand he'd never wanted, but had control over anyway – in his sweaty palm, and used it to summon all the things he would need. " _Accio! Accio! Accio!_ "

He moved forward even as he used his charms.

Newt Scamander was already in the Great Hall. His wife, Porpentina, was guarding a tangle of professors with a rather fierce look on her face. Harry was momentarily taken aback, and had to wonder at her history. He pushed that aside. He pushed every single thought that did not somehow involve either siren or banshee aside.

"They have to be awake for this," said Newt. He pointed at the professors.

Harry nodded shakily. "We've got them all asleep for now… we can—"

A heavy bag of ghost salt hit him in the head, and flomped to the floor. Harry felt small missiles hit his back: the crystal candles he'd summoned from the Charms classroom had arrived. He caught all seven of them before they shattered on the ground. Harry hurried around the hall, placing the candles all around. Newt did not ask what Harry was doing, but instead moved to help.

They both reached for the ghost salt at the same time. "You have all three? With you?" he asked quietly.

Harry nodded. "Yes… let me do that. Can you use the blood? Paint it over that doorway over there…" he pointed at the small storeroom off to the side. Then Harry, with his hands shaking, began to infuse the crystal candles with his patronus, one by one. He'd slowed down by the sixth, and he blinked blearily at the seventh. But soon it was done, and the candles glowed.

Just in time.

Ron and Hermione came in first, looking rather windblown. They took care to lay their captives out very gently, filling half of Gryffindor table with snoozing Weasleys. Ron stared at them, then wrapped his arm around his wife. "My whole family, Hermione," he said in a low tone; Harry knew he was not meant to hear it. He looked away.

It was Ron's whole family, but it was also Harry's.

Hermione pulled out her list, and began checking off names. "Hannah Abbott, yes, she's here," she muttered. Harry let her go on with it, and went to the front to stand with Newt, who had been joined by Eleison Clowder. "I'm assisting," she said.

"She's a fine curse-breaker," said Newt. "I'll draw out the siren, and she'll help me break it."

"Bill's better," Eleison said bluntly. "But he's not… available."

Harry nodded. "You have to do this," he told her.

"I will," she said.

Harry took a moment to appreciate the amount of people who had arrived. It looked very much like a school feast. Ministry officials stood in a clump together; Puddlemere United hung back on the walls. The families and loved ones of all the cursed ones looked scared and determined. Harry felt the same… as though sensing the mood of everyone in it, the enchanted sky changed to a desolate, barely lit night.

"I think we're about to begin," said Harry, when he spotted Hermione at the last table. "If everyone could move to the edge… I don't want you in the center. You need to be out of range of the candles. No, not you, Ron, you can stay."

"Wait!" shouted Hermione. "Wait – we're still missing—"

And then the doors banged open a final time, and the Malfoys came in, carrying an unconscious Draco between them. Lucius looked at Harry and raised his eyebrow. "I did not hear from you, Potter. Did you intend to leave Draco cursed?" There was frost and bite in his tone.

"I forgot," said Harry. "And I would never leave him like this. Never."

The hard look on the older man's face fell into something like fear, and he turned toward Narcissa. He laid Draco on the end of the Slytherin House table, away from all the others.

"We have everyone?" Harry asked Hermione.

"Everyone is here," she agreed.

"You're ready?" He asked Newt.

Newt pulled a silver flute out of his robes. "Ready," he said seriously.

"All right, let's wake them up."

What seemed like a hundred different voices spoke the same spell at once. It was chaos. For the most part, all the cursed ones were unwell, sickly, and growing weaker. But Harry saw Charlie make a noise like an angry bull and charge forward – only to be caught by a spell of Ron's.

Harry's gaze went to Ginny: she was staring at him, an angry, ugly expression on her face. Then she started scratching her arms… he could see great ugly welts growing. "Ginny, no!" he said. And without thinking, he went over to her and caught her up in his arms. She writhed in his grip, trying to break free.

"Let go of me," she moaned. "Let go. Let go. I hate you."

"That's okay. I love you," Harry told her.

" _That's pitiful_ ," she said. "I'll never love you back. Never, ever, ever."

"I'll love you enough for the both of us," said Harry.

And then Newt Scamander began to play the flute. Ginny jerked a few more times, and then went unnaturally still. An eerie sound swirled around them… a haunting melody Harry had heard far too often this year. It was no human voice that made it… it was a terrible sound, pain-filled and plaintive.

Ginny began to sing along.

Harry glanced around. All the cursed ones were singing along now, their faces filled with pain and hate. It reminded him absurdly of standing in this same Hall, singing the school song. The melody continued, repeated, and strengthened. All of it was held together by the flute.

"Oh!" someone shouted.

A shape began to coalesce in the air. The smell of sea and salt filled the Hall, and Harry could swear he felt drops of water hitting his face. The more the cursed ones sang, the more Newt played, the more real the shape became. It was a siren, Harry realized, as it came into focus. It was a bare-breasted woman who managed to look like half a bird and half a fish all at once. Her wings were covered in scales. She mantled them, head cocking this way and that. It was listening.

Eleison Clowder stepped forward and raised her wand.

The siren sucked in a huge breath, pulling the music out of everyone, wringing it out of them the way someone would wring out a rag. The last notes were pulled out of Ginny, and she went limp in his arms, sagging against his chest.

Newt played one more note.

And the curse broke.


	25. Master of Death

The siren image gave one final shriek. Then it exploded into a thousand points of light that drifted toward the ground like sparks from a fire.

Ginny immediately stopped struggling in his arms. Harry looked down at her, and he felt a surge of panic. She was fading before him. Her features elongated. Her eyes widened impossibly, and her pupils bled into her irises.

Ron cursed. "What the—"

Harry flicked the Elder Wand. "The siren's gone. It's the banshee who has them now." His palms were slippery, and he nearly dropped it. There was a prickle at the back of his neck, and the clomping of many hooves on stone floor. He turned. Hagrid's flock of thestrals alighted one by one and made their way toward him. His stomach swooped.

Death was coming, and the thestrals sensed it. It was Harry's moment.

He looked down at Ginny.  _Please work. It has to work._

It was not entirely difficult, to summon a ghost. Harry had spent years with them, so it was easier, even. He knew Nearly Headless Nick wanted most to join the Headless Hunt; he knew Myrtle had once haunted a girl who'd teased her; he knew the Grey Lady was Rowena Ravenclaw's daughter, and that the Bloody Baron had once loved her. The fact Harry knew the ghosts of Hogwarts quite well had nothing to do with the summoning...

...and everything.

The ghost salt he'd laid out lit all at once in dancing, blue flames. Harry peered at it; it did not appear entirely real. The flames flickered from an odd wind, one that did not seem to disturb anything else. Goosebumps erupted up and down his arms. Then he murmured the names of all the ghosts he knew, holding them clear in his mind, begging them to come help them.

It was Nearly Headless Nick who came fully into existence first, then Moaning Myrtle, who was quiet, serious, and not crying for once. The others wavered, flickering. Harry begged them silently to stay, to help.

Odd movement caught his eye, distracting him. Water — ugly, dark water — seeped down the stairs. Moss and peat began to mottle the stone floor, growing in the cracks. Harry realized the bog — the bog the twins had once created was growing, and transforming the castle. It happened fast — so fast. It felt like he blinked, and then Harry was standing in bog water, staring in stunned horror at what was around him. He could barely see the walls; it was as though they were no longer even at Hogwarts, but had been transported to the banshee's territory. He looked at Ron, then Hermione, and realized that they were all in danger, here. It no longer mattered if they were cursed or not. Panic made his thoughts slippery.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know it would come to this… I didn't know you'd be in danger like this."

"It's… okay," Hermione said faintly.

"It's my whole family," said Ron. "I'd rather be with them than on the sidelines."

"Harry," said Nearly Headless Nick. He had transformed somehow; He was no longer silvery and translucent. Color had bled into him, and he was looking more solid by the second.

"Can you — can you lead them home?" Harry licked his lips.

The ghost looked at him sadly. "I can lead one... perhaps two."

The walls had disappeared now.

Water sloshed, and Ron and Hermione moved closer to him, both looking terrified and determined at once. "Seamus is losing it," said Ron, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. Seamus was sitting in the bog water, rocking back and forth with his arms around his knees. Dean stood next to him, blank and still, unaware of the danger.

"Sir Nicholas is going to help," Harry said diffidently. Then he made a choice. "Can you try to make a trail? Maybe they can follow it? Where are the others?"

"Moaning Myrtle is just over there," said Sir Nicholas.

Harry's stomach fell. He'd been distracted... dismay hit him like knives. He'd hoped — he had so hoped that he would be able to summon all of the Hogwarts ghosts, and they would lead everyone home. "No one else came?"

Sir Nicholas spread his nearly solid hands in a helpless gesture. "I am sorry, Harry."

"It's all right," said Harry.

He pulled out the stone in his pocket. It had come to this, as he had thought it would. He had not wanted to — had not wanted to put the souls of the valiant dead at risk. What if the worst happened, and they, too, were lost? Harry hoped they would forgive him.

He took a moment. None of the cursed ones were paying him any attention. Their eyes were wide and blank, and they took cautious, shuffling steps toward something Harry couldn't see. He had a feeling the banshee was calling to them, and they were going.

Harry turned the stone over in his hand three times.

The bog went out of focus, and an arch slowly revealed itself to Harry. He vaguely remembered having Newt paint Harry's own blood over the door to a storeroom… this must be it. Harry blinked his eyes rapidly. Finally, it became clear. The mundane wooden door was now totally transformed into a plain, stone arch with a veil hanging over it, shielding whatever was beyond from mortal gaze. The veil fluttered, and then was pushed to the side.

They all came. All of them.

His parents were the first out... they looked solid enough to be real. Harry reached out to touch them —

—and clasped his father's shoulder, just as his mother wrapped her arms around his waist. For a second, Harry allowed himself to revel in their touch, to be in a small circle with his parents for the first time that Harry remembered. They murmured words to him, loving words, words he would get to carry with him for the rest of his life – however long that may be.

Others took that step through the veil. Dumbledore came after Harry's parents, tall, auburn-haired, and rather young-looking. Sirius, Remus, and Tonks came through at the same instant, with Mad Eye Moody on their heels. Cedric Diggory ducked in, and tossed Harry a wave. And then Fred passed through the veil; he nodded to Harry, but his eyes were already scanning the crowd for his family, for George.

Harry felt light-headed.

Others streamed in: Colin Creevey, who seemed shy; Amelia Bones, looking formidable; red-headed brothers Harry thought might be Mrs. Weasley's brothers, Fabian and Gideon Prewett. Others he did not even recognize came through. Harry felt incandescent. So many of the living had come to help. And now the dead.

"Harry," Dumbledore said gently. "I believe it is time for you to summon their patronuses."

But one more person had pushed aside the veil. Severus Snape marched out, gave Harry a look that somehow managed to meld annoyance and superciliousness. "Potter," he sneered. "We do not have much time."

Harry swirled the Cloak around his shoulders, held the Wand and the Stone aloft, and began the incantation. He was focusing on a single thought, one that would summon all their patronuses. Last year, he had meant to die for these people, to save them from Voldemort. And none of the spells he'd been able to cast had worked on them. Together, they had won. It was only a fluke that Voldemort had been able to hurt them like this, and Harry was there to make sure nothing like this could ever happen again.

The veil stirred, and a shadow passed over it.

Harry nearly faltered, but forced himself to continue. The crystal candles all around began to glow brighter, pulsing faintly, as though they now had beating hearts. Harry used magic as though he were climbing a mountain… his energy was fleeing. But he would not let himself stop. And with one, final word, the patronuses of the cursed ones were summoned.

They were nearly all shadow now, Harry thought. Ginny's mare had lost its beauty. Mrs. Weasley's boar was mostly black, with just a few threads of silver remaining. Cold emanated from all around. And then the resurrected, valiant dead took over.

"Lily and I will take Molly and Arthur," James said with authority.

"I've got Bill," said Tonks. She tripped her way to Bill's side, and laid a gentle hand on his patronus. Remus hurried over to Fleur.

Fred had already found George, and had his twin's sleeping coyote cradled in his arms.

Tears prickled Harry's eyes as Sirius made his way to Ginny. His godfather clasped her shoulder, gave her a side-armed hug that she did not in any way acknowledge. Harry looked around, blinking, and realized that his spell… his ritual… had raised a brilliant silver dome around them. Some of the living remained inside. Ron and Hermione were staring with open-mouthed stupefaction. Seamus was slowly pulling himself to his feet, watching as Colin Creevey healed Dean Thomas's patronus.

Harry, who had expected three or maybe four of them, could not believe how many came.

He allowed himself a few moments to gather himself, then hurried over to his parents. Lily's hand was on Molly's boar. As Harry watched, the shadows were peeling away. The smell of the bog was lessening. Molly was looking less elongated, and more like her natural self. Arthur was the same. Harry looked at his father, asking a silent question.

"So it's not – you didn't have to find a – a trail or something?" Harry asked. He had envisioned the cursed ones being led through a maze that no one but the dead could see.

"No," said Lily. "We are reminding them who they are, what they have to live for, what they nearly died for. Had they not been so wonderful, it would be a lot harder than this. Look, see, we're nearly done. Oh, I do love this woman. I'm so… glad I can help her."

"You knew her?" Harry asked, slightly bewildered.

"Just in passing when I was alive, but we know how much they mean to you."

"They were parents to you when you couldn't be," James said simply. "Your mother and I owe them this."

"And so very much more," said Lily.

Molly stirred. "It was… it… it… was our… pleasure," she said thickly.

Harry's eyes nearly popped. "She's already better?"

"Not quite yet," said Lily.

Harry wanted to linger, but he also wanted to be with Ginny. "Go," his father said, smiling. "Once Sirius has got her squared away, bring her over and introduce us."

Harry had a sudden fantasy of bringing Ginny over to his parents for tea… he tried to imagine what it would have been like, to have them there his whole life. They would already know the Weasleys, of course… He could almost see it – the little cottage in Godric's Hollow, warm and cheerful, and…

 _Ginny_ , Harry forced himself to think.

He walked over to her. Something about the air seemed heavy. It must be his spell; that was what made it so much harder to walk. Everywhere he looked, the dead were healing the living. George's coyote was nearly shadow-free, lolling in Fred's arms. Charlie and Percy were under the care of Fabian and Gideon, and looked nearly like themselves. Harry realized with a start that Regulus Black was here, tending to Oliver Wood. Everywhere he looked was another wonder.

"You all right?" Ron asked. He appeared suddenly in front of Harry.

"Yeah," said Harry.

Hermione looked worried. "Go," he told them. "Go see Fred. I've got to – I've got to go see Ginny."

She was there just ahead of him.

And she was smiling at him, eyes agleam.

She was awake.

Harry's steps faltered. "Oh, Sirius," he said. "Thank you. Thank you." Then they were both hugging him, just like his mother and father had. Sirius hardly felt cold at all, did not feel frail. It was as though he were nearly all the way present. Only a strange light in his eyes gave it away.

"Ginny, my parents want to meet you," he said, pulling back.

It was easier to manage the distance with Ginny and Sirius at their sides. The professors were healed. Dumbledore was patting a sobbing McGonagall's back. It was almost… too much to see. Snape had both hands on Draco's shoulders, and was muttering something fervently. Harry did not want to know what.

"Mum, Dad…" he said. "This is – this is Ginny – Ginny Potter, she's my wife."

Molly and Arthur's mouths dropped open, even as James and Lily beamed. Then Harry's parents circled Ginny and hugged her. Lily whispered something in her ear.

"You're married?" Molly mouthed.

All the Weasleys, living and dead, converged around them. It was such happy chaos that Harry did not bother to wonder why he was feeling so faint and light-headed… of course he was… it was not every day that he could reunite with all his loved ones. George and Fred were – unbelievably – cracking jokes. Tears sprang at the corners of his eyes.

"Harry, do you see…?" Ginny asked.

"I see it," said Harry, not knowing what, specifically, she meant. He saw all of it. He saw Moody and Kingsley, Bill and Tonks, Remus and Fleur, his parents… her parents… Molly and Arthur were hugging Fred, and not letting him go even when he protested. Snape and Draco stood at the edge. Draco's eyes were wide, and his mouth open. Then Ron and George and Fred were jumping in a circle… Dumbledore was looking at him, one eyebrow raised… it was too much, but Harry could not look away. He could not close his eyes.

And then – something happened that broke something deep inside Harry. He could feel something dark and cold strike the dome. Then another. And another. And another. They felt like blows. Harry began to panic, looking around for what it could be…

At each point of impact, a small, pale patronus appeared. Harry gaped at it, open-mouthed. Another dementor hit the dome, and another patronus appeared.

"OH MY GOD, THE DEMENTORS!" Hermione shouted. "IT'S KILLING HIM!"

And Harry realized it was him she meant. He tilted his head up, and he saw the face in the sky.

The banshee was there in the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, looking down at him, becoming solid and more real the longer Harry looked. She was terrible, and something inside Harry withered away and died at the sight of her. Her mouth was open… it was a dark maw, opening wider and wider, as though it wanted to eat the whole world. But behind that image, Harry could see a smaller figure… one still terrible, but without the glamour…

"I can see you," he told the banshee.

"I know," she said. "You are close enough to death to do so."

She came down out of the ceiling and stood before him. In this incarnation, banshee looked nearly like a woman: long black hair, and the pale skin of the dead. There was banked purple fire in her eyes. Harry shivered. "Ah yes, fear," the banshee licked her lips.

Harry said nothing. He could not lie; he was terrified.

"Master of the Hallows, what will it be?" The banshee asked.

"What?" Harry said.

"You cannot break the curse without offering a trade," said the banshee. "You know this. I am as I have been made, and cannot make an exception. Better to ask the sea to stop its tides, or the stars to fall from the heavens."

"A trade," Harry said thickly. Dimly, he was aware of more dementors hitting the dome. Each one broke him a little more. The banshee was the only real thing, now… everyone else looked like ghosts. "Someone has to go with you."

There was a roaring in his ears.

Harry closed his eyes. He did not want to do this. He did not want to go with the banshee, and spend his afterlife in a bog. Harry did not want to break his promise to Ron and Hermione. He did not want to leave Ginny behind.

"All right, you can—"

Sir Nicholas appeared out of nowhere, leaping between Harry and the banshee – and the banshee swiped out –

—and his head was cleaved from his shoulders, and went spinning into the air—

"What were you about to say, mortal? No distractions."

"I—"

"OH, NO YOU DON'T, HARRY!" Ginny shouted, quite undone. A silencing charm hit him, and Harry was unable to speak. "YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO LEAVE ME!"

"Mrs. Potter," Dumbledore said gently. "You can help him… you've combined magical signatures. You can use the Hallows."

"Ahhhhhh," sighed Ginny. She plucked the Wand and Stone out of Harry's grasp, and tucked the Cloak over her knee. And then, fearlessly, she faced down the banshee. "You want a bargain?" she said fiercely. Then she pointed at something Harry couldn't quite see… a shadow on the ground… something too grotesque for words. Ginny'd seen what he hadn't, he realized. She'd seen that shadow, and understood what it was. Even now, Harry could hardly recognize Lord Voldemort in that shadow creature.

"Take that," spat Ginny. "Take that shell… take what Tom Riddle left of himself. And you can keep it forever as far as I'm concerned."

There was no time to argue. No time to worry if the wrong decision had been made. In between one breath and the next, the banshee, the bog, and the last remnant of Tom Riddle's soul, which had been called back by the power of the Resurrection Stone, were gone. Silence rang loudly in Harry's ears. His feet were back on solid, stone ground.

"You will need to break the connection," said Dumbledore's calm voice.

"I love you all," said Fred.

"Until we meet again," said Sirius.

Other murmurs. Other voices.

"Thank you so much for loving our son," said James.

"Yes, thank you," said Lily. Fingers brushed through his hair, and Harry toppled over onto Mr. Weasley.

"Goodbye, son."

James and Lily's faces swam in his vision. They were smiling, a gentle, loving smile that eased some of the hurt inside him. "We love you," said Lily.

"Always," said James.

The moment Ginny dropped the stone, Harry's whole world went black.


	26. There Are No Words

Harry slept.

He was vaguely aware of Mr. Weasley's hand on his head as Rowan Khanna floated him into the air. Ginny was holding his hand. And then he drifted away.

Snippets of conversation reached him even in the depths of this sleep.

"Here he is."

"Ahhhh, thank you. You're sure I won't hurt him?"

"You won't, I promise."

Ginny slid into bed next to him. Harry wanted to reach out and hold her, but he went back under before he could so much as twitch a finger. He did not dream.

"You better be doing everything you can to get better."

"Ron is right. He will not be happy if you neglect your own healing."

"I am, I am. I just... I can't leave him."

"Me an Hermione will sit with him until you get back. Go see Rowan."

Harry could hear Ron and Hermione murmuring. Their voices sounded like wind in leaves. He was already drifting back down into that peaceful, dreamless place. There were no dreams here... Harry could rest at last...

"—told everyone the Hallows were destroyed. We thought it best."

"Who knew the telly spelly would have so many uses? Hermione, you're a genius."

"I'm glad everyone knows what Harry did for us. Lily wanted to make sure his courage would never be forgotten."

Harry twitched toward Ginny's voice. A cool hand slid into his. And then she sprawled next to him. Harry could feel her head on his chest.

"Well, showing it on the telly spelly in the middle of the Ministry is one way to do that. Have I told you lately you're a genius, Hermione?"

"Not even two minutes ago."

And Harry slept again.

He nearly woke up entirely when they moved him. They had to use a Portkey for the first part. Harry was pulled out of his rest by the sensation of being jerked by the navel. Then he immediately felt like he was being squeezed through a tube. Once he was less disoriented, he felt warmth and cheerfulness tickle him like phantom fingertips up and down his body.  _Ah, Grimmauld Place._

A pleasant, floating sensation suffused his limbs.

"I've got him."

"Dad, are you sure? You're still healing."

"I told you,  _I've got him_. I can do this much for him."

"Well, all right. But I'll be right behind you."

"Hey, Ron, what's this map for?"

" _George, shut up._ "

"What is it, Ron?"

Harry flinched at Mrs. Weasley's question.

"It looks like the four of them were keeping score of something... something they were doing in every room of the house... and Hogwarts, too? The Quidditch Pitch and Gryffindor Tower? What do you think it could be, Mum?"

Silence.

"I'm going to hurt you."

"Ronald Weasley, do not threaten your brother." Another pause. "Oh my."

Harry was very grateful that he was not expected to participate in this conversation. He went under again, and when he rose back up, his dozing instincts told him it had been quite some time.

Mrs. Weasley was reading to him. He could tell from the smooth cadence of her voice. "..."On the appointed day, hundreds of people travelled from all over the kingdom to reach the garden walls before dawn. Male and female, rich and poor, young and old, of magical means and without, they gathered in the darkness, each hoping that they would be the one to gain entrance to the garden. Three witches, each with her burden of woe—"

"Reading to him again?"

"I read to all of our children when they are sick, you know that. Where's Ginny?"

"In the kitchen. Ron's bullying her into eating."

"Good for him."

"Should he — ah, shouldn't he be waking up by now?"

"You heard Rowan. It takes time."

Harry felt her pat his hand and smooth the covers over his chest. "I do wish you would wake up, Harry, dear."

Harry wanted to. He tried to open his eyes, but they remained stubborn and closed. It became a matter of frustration. It was very peaceful in his rest, but his desire to wake up grew. It grew especially bad when, one by one, they began to beg him to do just that.

"You gotta wake up, mate, Hermione and I are winning our competition. You don't want that, do you? You'll never believe some of the places we've done it." The lighthearted words belied the tone. Ron was scared.

Harry twitched.

"Ron! I think he moved!"

"Yeah, well, he doesn't want to lose."

"Lose what?"

"Nothing!"

"Never you mind, Mum."

...Harry drifted again...

"Harry. You have to wake up. I can't lose you." Her head was on his chest, and he could feel her tears soaking his pajamas.

"Ginny, love, we're doing everything we can — maybe we should bring him back to St. Mungo's."

"No! That's like giving up on him!"

Harry could tell by all the whispers and mutters that everyone was in the room with him. Frustration grew into panic. He did not want to go back to St. Mungo's. Did not want to be left on the Closed Ward, only to be visited on Christmas and birthdays. "No, I want to wake up," he murmured. Saying these words took a tremendous amount of effort. It was like climbing a mountain.

And then he opened his eyes. "I'm here."

" _Oh God, Harry._ "

It was Ginny's face he saw first. He couldn't look away. There was no smile on her face; he knew her joy would be too fierce for that. Fresh tears filled her eyes.

"I'll be okay."

Mr. Weasley sat on the other side of his bed. Harry forced his eyes away from Ginny. Mr. Weasley was entirely healed, Harry realized, feeling profound relief. All the hostility was gone. In its place was a tenderness that suffused Harry's limbs with warmth.

Mrs. Weasley came over to brush the hair out of his eyes, and help him drink a steaming potion she must have summoned the moment Harry opened his eyes.

As soon as Harry finished swallowing, Mr. Weasley shook his head, and said: "Harry. There are no words, really. You and Ginny... Ron and Hermione—"

"—but especially you," Ginny interjected.

"Thank you just doesn't seem like enough," said Mrs. Weasley.

"So pale a word for what you did, which was more miracle than magic," said Mr. Weasley.

"I had the right tools," Harry said thickly. "I couldn't lose Ginny or any of you like that. That couldn't be your death."

Mrs. Weasley kissed him on the forehead, and then Mr. Weasley did. Harry's eyelids were already drooping. But when he fell asleep this time, it was a natural sleep.

Harry woke again in the middle of the night. Ginny was next to him in bed, head on his chest. He shifted slightly, wanting to be closer to her, and she popped her head up.

"Oh Harry," she said. Then, very gently, she pressed small kisses on his lips, his cheeks, his forehead... everywhere she could reach. "You're back. I'm so glad you came back."

"Where else would I want to be?" Harry said in a raspy voice. It was easier to talk now.

She smiled at him. Then it faded. "I was so worried I lost you... you've been sleeping for a month. Rowan said it was on the long side of normal, but oh God, Harry. If I had lost you..."

"You didn't," said Harry.

Almost two weeks after he finally woke up from his magical exhaustion, Harry was still in bed, and getting frustrated with it. "Can't I get out of bed yet?" a hint of a whine crept into his voice.

Ginny flipped a page in the latest issue of Quidditch Weekly, the glossy magazine she'd been reading to him. "Not yet, Harry, Rowan says another four days."

"Why don't you get in here with me?"

She gave him a look. Harry was smugly satisfied to see she was tempted. "I need you too, Harry, but I don't think we should. Rowan says—"

"I know what Rowan says," Harry grumped.

Ginny did climb back into bed with him, and they kissed slowly and lazily. Harry cupped her breast with his hand, and left it there, enjoying the feel of her. It was enough, but not at the same time, not.

"That's enough," she said, pulling away.

She relented the very next day. Harry thought it might have been the begging that convinced her.

"Please."

"Harry..."

"Ginny, I promise I won't even move anything."

"I just don't — you promise you won't move?"

"I swear it. Ginny... I need this. I need you."

In response, she stood up. It was morning, and she was still wearing that blue nightgown Harry liked. To his delight and relief, she reached under it, pulled off her knickers, and threw them at him. He grabbed them. In the next second, Ginny pointed her wand at him, and he found himself unable to move anything but his head.

"What—"

"Just making sure you keep your promises," said Ginny. She climbed onto the bed and straddled him. Harry licked his lips, anticipating what was to come.  _Ginny, I hope._

She sat on his chest, keeping most of her weight on her knees, and started pulling up her nightgown, inch by inch.

"Yes," Harry said in a raspy voice.

"You're sure?" Ginny asked.

"Oh yes."

Then she revealed herself to him. He caught his breath. It seemed like it had been forever.

"I know you weren't gone very long, but I missed this. I missed this. I missed  _us_."

"I missed you too."

Harry eyed her hungrily. She wasn't aroused, so her most private parts were still tightly closed. But even as he watched, she started to unfurl.

"You're going to have to scoot closer," Harry told her.

She moved, and her red curls tickled his chin. Then she was spread above him. Harry nuzzled her, inhaled her scent, and kissed her. He kissed her deeply... gently... coaxing her arousal out bit by bit. Ginny tasted so good... so good... nothing had ever tasted better. He licked her languidly, then pulled back so he could see her. His eyelids dropped. So beautiful.

"Harry?" Ginny's voice.

"Mmm, you're so damn pretty," he mumbled. Then his eyes shut all the way, and he slept.

Ginny was gone when he woke up. It was with intense embarrassment that he realized he had not finished what he had started out to do. What kind of moron fell asleep with his lovely wife straddling his face?

Harry was still blushing and kicking himself when Mrs. Weasley bustled in. "Harry, dear, you look flushed. Are you running a fever?" Her hand was cool on his forehead. The other held out a potion for him to drink.

Ginny was at the door, giving him a wide, wicked smile. Harry realized that he was never going to live it down.

"I think he's fine, Mum," said Ginny, waltzing into the room. "But I don't think he should come down to dinner. I just don't know if he can stay awake long enough to eat just yet."

The look she gave him behind her mother's back... for the first time since he came back to himself, he felt a stir of sexual interest.

"I can eat," Harry said weakly.

In the end, he was allowed out of his room. It was brilliant, that, even though he was being floated by Ginny, and not walking on his own two legs.

It was a festive — edging on jubilant — atmosphere that greeted Harry the moment Ginny led him into the kitchen. Everyone gave him a hug, though they were very gentle about it, and the food on the table was all of his favorites. It was like a more intimate Hogwarts feast. All the Weasleys spoke at once, talking over each other, arguing... not a hint of a shadow was on their face. No one hummed that horrible song. And when they looked at Harry, there were only smiles.

Harry ate half the food on his plate, and then sat back, content to just watch.

A few minutes later, Mrs Weasley floated a brown paper bag to each plate. Harry peeked inside — there was an apple, some flour, what looked to be a sphere of goo, and all sorts of other ingredients. To Harry's great astonishment, all the bags went up in flame at Mrs. Weasley's command, shooting up toward the ceiling. As the paper charred away, a perfectly baked pie appeared. Harry was dumbfounded. As much magic as he'd seen, and he was still surprised.

"That… was magical," he said.

"Pie's always magical," said Ron. "Mum just makes it better'n most."

"Kingsley wants as at the Ministry next Saturday for your award," said Mr. Weasley. "All four of you are getting awards, actually—"

"If it's about the Voldemort thing, everyone here was involved in that," said Harry, uncomfortable with the idea of being paraded up at the Ministry.

"No, it's not the  _Voldemort thing_ ," said Mr. Weasley. "Not just that, Harry."

Harry sighed. "I have to do it?"

"Yes," Mrs. Weasley said implacably. "Your parents would want it for you, and so do we."

The night before Harry and the others were expected at the Ministry, Ginny drew him a bath. Harry, who was feeling much stronger now, started to get aroused right around the time she was adding bubble bath to the steaming hot water, and lighting candles on the ledges above the tub. He started stripping.

Ginny's eyes lingered on his growing erection. She licked her lips then gave him a long, assessing look. "All right, then," she said. Then, throwing off her robes with a look of relief, she got into the tub.

Harry followed her, getting in opposite her. His eyes immediately went to her breasts. They were as beautiful as ever, and now covered in soap bubbles. It made them look whimsical. His erection twitched. His lips parted.

"Your breasts are so beautiful," he said in a low voice. He tore his gaze away from them, and met her eyes. Her cheeks were pink, whether from his regard, or the cozy heat of the bath.

"You like them?" Ginny asked.

"Oh yeah," said Harry.

"They like you, too," said Ginny.

They scooted toward each other in the same instant, legs further entangling. Harry wrapped his hands around her ribcage, just under them, and lifted her up toward his mouth. He pressed small kisses on them, lavishing attention on one then the other.

"That feels so good," Ginny murmured. Her hands moved into his hair, lightly tickling his scalp. He loved it when she did that.

"I love it when you do that," he told her.

He could not take his attention off her breasts for very long, and soon he was trying to kiss every freckle he could spot, and then began to play with her nipples. She was pressed right up against him now, on her knees so he worship her breasts properly. The heat of the bath kept her nipples slightly puffy — it was not until Harry'd sucked at them diligently that they were the hard little points he knew best.

By that time she was writhing against him, pressing herself against his chest, and chanting his name. He stroked her back, her bum, pulling her tighter against him, giving her the pressure she craved.

Then she took his head in her hands, lowered herself until she was in his lap, and kissed him, long and deep. Harry could feel their heartbeats where they were pressed together.

She took him in her hand.

Harry opened his eyes, wanting to look at her as she touched him, as she positioned him at her entrance. She was staring at him, eyes wide, pupils blown with desire. Her eyelids fluttered as he entered her, eyelashes dark against the creamy skin of her cheek.

They moved slowly, looking at each other all the while. Ginny's arms were looped around his neck, his were wrapped around her. They rocked together.

"I need you," she said.

"You have me," he said.

Urgency built, but slowly. Their movements made small waves, and soapy water sloshed over the lip of the tub. Harry's hand was at the small of her back, holding her firmly. She ground against him. Ginny was beautiful in the steam, water making her skin shiny in the candlelight. She was magical.

More water sloshed onto the floor.

Harry kissed her again. As waves of pleasure spread through his body, a slash of joy went through him. Ginny was here, she was his, they were no longer facing dire threats. They could make love in the bathtub every day if they wanted to... their future was spread out before them.

"Always," he gasped out. "Oh God, Ginny. I get to keep you always."

It was at that moment she came, stiffening and crying out, grinding against him. The little shudders in her small muscles squeezed him... he came in her with a loud groan, glad he'd managed to last long enough for her to climax. Ginny slumped against him, trembling.

Harry kissed her hair and held her tight. "Have I told you lately how glad I am we're married? Not because of any tracking spell, or even because it turned out to save my life."

Ginny lifted her eyes to his. The smile she gave him was stripped of everything but love. "I know, me too. I'm glad we're us. Not — not like we aren't individuals. Just... partners."

They took a rather more sedate bath after that, and Harry was relieved when they slipped into cool, dry sheets. As much time as he'd spent sleeping lately, and he still got tired after a couple of hours. And tomorrow was a big day…

"Are you nervous?"

Most of the Weasleys had gone on ahead; only Ginny, Ron, and Hermione were waiting in the library for the signal to Apparate to the Ministry. They were dressed in their dressiest of dress robes; Harry had done the same... had even gone so far as to try to tame his hair.

Harry thought about it. "No," he said honestly. It had been a month and a half since he saw the face in the sky and nearly died. There was still no room for nervousness about being in front of the entire Ministry. He was calm... calm, and a little impatient, wanting to get this over with.

Kingsley's lynx patronus appeared. It was the signal that everyone was ready for them.

They Apparated nearly at the same moment, arriving in a chain.

Harry's mouth slowly gaped open. The Atrium was silent as a tomb. He had never seen it so full of people, nor had it ever been so silent. They were the only ones wearing any color. Everyone else wore somber black. A wave of disorientation hit him, and he suddenly felt like he was at his own funeral.

Ginny squeezed his hand, and he got his direction back.

As they walked down the long, long hall in the narrow way that had been left for them, Harry realized that the others weren't wearing entirely black. Each wore a pin on their chest above their heart, a magical pin, a silvery stag that galloped in place.

Harry realized it was his patronus just as Hermione gave a great sniffle. His eyes wandered. Everyone he could see wore it.  _Everyone._

He looked at Ginny. She gave him her blazing look. They walked the rest of the way; Harry could not help but seek out the silvery stag pins, to look at them as they walked toward Kingsley. He had known there would be a gesture, had braced himself for it. Had thought it would make him uncomfortable and want to flee.

Instead, it made the backs of his eyes burn: a different kind of discomfort.

They neared the end of the Atrium, and here were the people Harry had most craved to see. He was stunned to see Luna and her father wearing the same black as everyone else. She stood with Neville. In addition to the stag pin, they wore another: Neville's a lion, and Luna's a hare. Harry's eyes continued to burn as they grinned at him.

All the cursed ones proudly wore the symbol of their own patronuses next to his. Harry looked down at Ginny, and gave her a teasing smile when he saw the tear tracking down her cheek.

Kingsley and the rest of the Weasleys were standing on a small raised platform that had been brought in for the occasion. None of them spoke. Instead, they pointed their wands, and great, silvery wisps filled the air. It wasn't the patronus charm... this was something else... an illusion of patronuses.

His father's stag cantered in the air beside his mother's. Fred's patronus gamboled around the Weasley's feet. Remus and Tonks's wolves... even Snape's doe stood off to the corner of the platform. And Dumbledore's phoenix soared above them all.

It was an illusion, but Harry's memories of his lost loved ones were very present as he accepted his Order of Merlin, First Class, from the silent Minister. Kingsley pulled him into a quick, brotherly embrace, then granted him the award.

Ron and Hermione were openly crying as they accepted theirs. Ginny's face was hard, but her hands shook, her award quivering like a leaf.

Then the four of them stood in front of their audience, and held the blown glass awards aloft. Harry could see their beaming faces, but no one so much as sneezed.

"Why all the silence?" Harry breathed.

"Too big for words, mate," said Ron, who didn't bother to whisper. "What you did for us with Voldemort... then with the banshee— thanks just doesn't cut it."

"For the magnitude of what you did?" Ginny asked. "There  _are_ no words."


	27. The Brightest Day

Slowly, the world recovered.

 _Perhaps it's not the entire world,_ Harry thought,  _but it's the most important part to me_. He looked around the large table at Grimmauld Place. It was a week after the ceremony at the Ministry. Everyone was treating him normally, not as some sort of savior, which was exactly how Harry wanted it.

The Weasleys had spent much of their time in the last few weeks in the library with the Telly Spelly, reliving their moments with Fred — both when he was alive, and when he had come to help rescue his family from a terrible afterlife. Harry did not mind the former moments, but he'd walked in on George sitting in front of it, tears streaming down his face, and watching Fred heal his patronus. Viewing it through that memory, Harry could see the darkness gathering on the enchanted ceiling, and he'd felt a sick twinge in his stomach.

Harry never wanted to deal with a force of nature like that again. Never wanted to relive it.

Still, he kept all three of the Hallows in a hidden spot. Just in case.

They were not at the forefront of his mind that evening. Instead, Harry was feeling an uncomplicated amusement as he and Ron took turns teasing their family.

"I can't believe you still won't show us," Bill said, pointing a fork at them. "You realize we all think it's another sex thing, like that map." He raised an eyebrow at Harry. "Do you really want us to continue thinking you've got our sister doing something... weird down there?"

Harry sat back in his chair. "What're you going to do? Hex me?"

Ginny and Ron guffawed.

In fact, Harry and Bill had had a slightly awkward conversation just four days prior in which the older man had apologized rather too eloquently for Harry's taste. A gruff "Sorry about trying to kill you in Diagon Alley" would have sufficed. In fact, Harry did not feel any need for any apology whatsoever from any of them. Bill'd examined the very small, very discreet scar, apologized, and said, "I feel terrible I left a scar on you. Like Voldemort. Like Umbridge. Brothers — you're my brother now, Harry, and I should never have done it."

Harry grinned cheekily at Bill. "Brothers tease each other, I'm pretty sure," he said.

George rolled his eyes. "This has gone on far enough—"

"Don't  _you_ try to tell us when something's gone too far," Ron laughed. "You and Fred made me and Ginny believe the ghoul was our cousin for  _years_. Don't tell us what's gone far enough."

Hermione gasped. "That's terrible!"

"That's life with the Weasleys, I'm afraid," Percy said pompously.

"Not with me, Hermione, don't worry," said Ron. "I'm a Granger, now, remember?"

It was when everyone was laughing that Harry withdrew his holly-and-phoenix wand — the Elder Wand was retired — and undid the charms. Ron was the one who'd kept their Quidditch Pitch a secret, and he'd had Hermione and Ginny put sixteen different charms on the cellar door to keep it that way. "You're the one who made it," he'd told Harry. "You get to show them. It wasn't right when you were so sick."

Tonight, Harry was finally feeling well enough to fly.

"MUM! FLEUR!" Bill shouted. "THEY'RE FINALLY OPENING THE CELLAR!"

More Weasleys and Kingsley — who'd been having a meeting with Arthur — appeared. "I've been waiting months for this," Kingsley said in a very satisfied tone. "What on earth did you four make down there? It shook half of London!"

Harry felt a twinge of unease.

"You're about to find out," Ron said. It almost sounded like a threat.

"Any last guesses?" Ginny asked. "And George, not from you, please."

"Why not Bill?!" George asked, outraged.

"Just guessing, but I think Bill has a better sense of what not to say in front of Mum," said Ron.

"A private hospital for those of us who were cursed," Mrs. Weasley guessed. "Before you knew we were all going to die from it."

"Your own private Auror training facility," Kingsley put in.

"A Muggle telly house," was Arthur's guess.

"A sex dungeon," Charlie said dreamily. His mother smacked the back of his head as Ginny rolled her eyes.

Harry shook his head. Then he used his wand to flip the trap door open. "Oh, wait, I almost forgot." He summoned several take out boxes of Chinese food.

"Thank God I don't have to bring them their food again," Ron said. "The leader got very shirty with me when you were sick."

"You should see how she gets with me," Ginny muttered.

"Yes, well, I think we all know about fairies and their deals," said Hermione.

"GET ON WITH IT!" George and Bill shouted together.

So Harry stepped back, and allowed them to look their fill. Their heads crowded around the small trapdoor, and Harry knew what they were seeing: a Quidditch Pitch, an expansive forest, a waterfall, and a tower. It was, he had to admit, pretty impressive.

"Merlin's most prized shit," George said fervently. "Of course you nutters built Hogwarts in your basement."

Brooms were summoned.

Harry was surprised to see Mrs. Weasley on a broom, and even more surprised at her flying loops around her husband. But he shrugged that off, and watched Ginny fly loops around him.

He did not fly very fast or very far that first time. Harry glided down and headed straight for the trees. Everyone followed him. He winced. "I brought your food!" he said loudly.

The fairies erupted from the trees and devoured the food. The leader gave him a flirtatious look, but backed down when Ginny growled at her. Harry raised an eyebrow at his wife, who grinned back at him.

"You're mine," she said.

"Don't worry, she's got nothing on you," Harry reassured her.

"She does have magnificent breasts, though," said Ron. Hermione swatted him.

They gave their family the tour. It was an astonishingly large space they had made, Harry had to admit. Hermione's advanced charms knowledge, Ron's sense of humor, and Ginny's whimsical, graceful touches were evident in every corner of the room. It was a very neat thing they had all made together. Harry saw it through new eyes.

"This is remarkable," Arthur said. He cleaned his glasses on his robes. "Truly remarkable."

"And this is where you all got married," Mrs. Weasley said.

"Yeah – did they tell you they made me plan the whole wedding?" Harry asked her. "Hermione said she wanted a 'special spot', and I thought Gryffindor Tower was the only place that made sense."

"You know what?" Mrs. Weasley asked thoughtfully. "I think you need to get married again."

"Splendid idea," said Arthur. "That way I can dance with my daughter on her wedding day… I was always looking forward to that."

"Wait, what?" said Harry. "We're already married! How can we get married again?"

"Maybe—"

" _No_ , Ron. That's not what she means," Hermione cut Ron off.

"But—"

"No."

"I'm still confused," said Harry.

"I think what Mum means is the reception," said Ginny.

"But—"

"The four of you got married in secret, and… partly because you were hiding from us," Mrs. Weasley said sternly. "I appreciate the fact that you all love each other, but this will give us a chance to make – certain things right. We can't go back and change anything, but we  _can_ give you a proper start to your married lives together. We can show you that not only do we approve of the choices you have made, but we want to celebrate them with you."

"Oh, Mum…"

"I still don't get if you want us to bond… again? Do you want us to get our bond broken? And then what, rebond?" Ron was very confused.

"Oh, Ron, I'll explain it to you later," Hermione said fondly.

"All right, I guess we can do it," Harry said, because that was what was expected of him.

Their reception was held at the Burrow, and everyone came. This time, Harry had not had to plan a single thing; everything was taken care of by Molly – as he was now told to call her. Fleur decided to help, and the two of them threw themselves into preparing a party to be celebrated on the longest day of the year. Luna and Xeno even performed a sun ritual dance that was said to be a blessing to their marriage. It was very entertaining. Neville and Seamus and Luna all stood up to make a toast.

His favorite moment, other than every single moment he shared with Ginny, was when George sashayed into the marquee wearing the same Muggle evening gown he'd been dressed in for their bonding ceremony. Harry laughed so hard he cried, and toasted George with two glasses of firewhiskey – one for each of the socks he'd stuffed down his shirt to give him the appearance of breasts.

He had to admit, it was beautiful. If he'd thought Bill's wedding was lavish, it was nothing compared to this. Probably because  _two_ of her children were celebrating their wedding reception, Harry decided. Champagne and firewhiskey flowed freely, copious amounts of Weasley cousins drank to their heart's content, and little magical flourishes were everywhere. There was, Harry decided, a wide gulf between simplicity and ostentation. Molly and Fleur had gone straight toward ostentation.

As the celebration wound down, Harry was totally relaxed and comfortable sitting at the head table with his wife, and Ron and Hermione. He and Ron were in the dress robes Molly'd bought for them. Ginny and Hermione wore wedding dresses. Different wedding dresses.

Ginny'd rowed with her mum about it. "I can just wear the one I wore last time," she said. "That'll make everything easier. I mean, do you really want to be embroidering twenty hours a day for the next two weeks? I can just wear—"

"Yeah. No," said Molly. "We'll find you something that isn't doxy-bitten."

Harry, who thought the first dress Ginny'd worn was lovely, had to admit that the gown Molly'd made for her daughter was resplendent. He'd nearly swallowed his tongue the moment he saw her. the dress wrapped around the top of her body like a second skin and seemed to be held up by magic, or maybe her breasts, since there were no sleeves or straps to be seen. It was a shimmering silver-white and had tiny fresh flowers making a band at her waist. The layers of the skirt were so delicate, they floated around her legs like the material was made of air.

"You... look..."

It'd been two hours, and Harry still couldn't take his eyes off of her. She was dancing with her father; they were being a little silly, while Hermione and her father (who had been strongly encouraged to come home for the occasion by an irate Molly) danced a sedate waltz.

Harry could not stop smiling. "Remember what your dad said?" he tipped his head toward Ron. "After you got into one of your scrapes and I had to save your life?"

Ron choked on his firewhiskey. " _My_ scrapes?  _I_ was the one who got into scrapes? Haven't we spent half our lives fighting to get out of one of  _your_ scrapes?"

Harry smiled. "Yeah, well, I had loads of people trying to kill me. Your stomach just got you into trouble."

"You're talking about the poisoned mead I drank and the bezoar? I don't remember what Dad said."

"You might've still been unconscious," said Harry. He took another sip of firewhiskey, then made a lazy gesture with his, and refilled both their glasses. "Anyway, your dad said it was a lucky day for the Weasleys when we sat next to each other on the train. But really—" he waved his arm expansively, trying to take in everything "—it was a lucky day for me. Thank you, Ron."

They both pretended they coughed because of the large gulp of firewhiskey they took.

Ginny finished her dance with her father, and came to sit back down. Harry pulled her onto his lap, instead, and nuzzled her neck.

"You're drunk," she said, amused.

"Maybe," Harry said. He pressed hot kisses on her neck. "You taste delicious. I can't wait to get more of a taste."

"Was the dinner really not enough for you?" Ron asked. "You need to  _eat out_?"

"Why are you listening to our private conversation?" Harry flipped him off behind Ginny's back.

"I'm sitting litra-littally one foot away from you," Ron told him. "It's hard not to hear you seducing my sister."

Harry and Ginny ended up escaping the head table and the marquee itself a few minutes later. Luna helped them go unnoticed by the crowd by providing a distraction.

"Thanks, Luna!" Ginny called over her shoulder. Harry pulled her by the hand off to find a quiet, private corner.

Her skirts were just as billowy as Harry suspected, and when he tried to push them up, it was like trying to undress a cloud. "I might be too tipsy for this," Harry said breathlessly, after trying — and failing — to find her bare legs. It was the skirt, it kept billowing up, into his face, getting into his mouth. Ginny was giggling too hard to help.

"I'm sorry!" she gasped. "It's just too funny. You're dueling my dress, and it's winning."

Harry finally defeated it by draping it entirely over himself. Pale blue, lacy knickers were right in front of him. Harry nuzzled them, breathing in her scent. She always smelled so damn good, Ginny did.

"What's this?!" Harry said, delighted, when he found a slit in her knickers. It gave him full, unimpeded access to some of his favorite parts of her. Without waiting for an answer, he pressed a deep, lingering kiss against her folds. He lost himself in the taste of her for minutes, suckling on her clit, sweeping his tongue against her folds, coaxing more taste out of her. She did, in fact, taste better than firewhiskey.

"Harry," she hissed.

Harry jerked back. That was not a happy sound. "Wha' happened?"

"Do you have your Cloak?"

Harry disentangled himself from her; it took much longer than he felt it would have had he not been quite so drunk.

"No, why? There a banshee?" he asked, before he could stop himself. Ridiculous! Banshees couldn't come out when it was still light, right? "Where's the swamp?"

"No, someone is here!"

Now Harry heard it: muffled groans, and pants. "Sounds like someone's doing wha we were tryn to," he said. He grabbed Ginny's hand, pulled her away from the broomshed, and toward more shelter. He was still hard, and he brushed his hand over it, and then again.

They ended up in the deserted sitting room of the Burrow. Instead of returning to his earlier task, Harry finally won the battle with her dress, pulled open his robes, unfastened his trousers, and pulled her down on top of him on the sofa. Her opening was hot and wet from his earlier kisses, and her mouth fastened on his as she sank onto him with one fluid motion.

"I think… we should get married… at least twice a year," Harry panted into her mouth. "Wedding sex… so hot."

She seemed to agree, because she came on him, inner walls rippling around him, trying to coax him into coming, but Harry was determined to last. "Ah ah," he said, gripping her hips, and helping her ride him. "Not yet. Not yet."

He pushed some billowing skirt away, and worked his hand between them, and pressed his thumb against her clit, just the way he knew she liked it.

"Oh, fuck, Harry," she gasped. "Feels so good."

"Yeah," he said. "It's so fucking good."

He could still feel her climaxing, tiny little quivers deepening the pleasure of being inside her. And he also knew he was pushing her into another one. The only sound was their harsh breath, and the thunder of his heart in his ears. The firewhiskey, Ginny in his arms, the feel of her lips on his, and his penis inside her… it was suddenly so perfect that Harry came, surging into her, calling her name.

Once he recovered, he looked down at her. Her hair was disheveled, her lips swollen, her eyes dilated with pleasure.

And it really hit him then that the rest of his life stretched out before him. No Voldemort. No banshee. Precious few Death Eaters. He had a standing invitation to join the Aurors as soon as he was back from his honeymoon. The yard outside was filled with friends and family.

And Ginny was in his arms, where she would remain the rest of his life.

He pressed his forehead against hers, still breathing heavily, still feeling an astonishing amount of joy.

All was well.

xxxxxxxxxx

**Author's Note:** _Okay, there it is. The ending. I thought there might be another chapter there, but was fatigued of the story and had to step away for a few weeks. Hey, I hope some of you read The Room of Lost Things, which took me... two weeks to write. It was nuts. I think it came out so fast because this was a lot of words to write solely from the POV of Harry, and I really needed some Ginny._

_Would you guys forgive me if I wrote another story about time travel? I don't think I am done writing Harry/Ginny, and I have a weird little story percolating. I don't really want to be done. But gosh. More time travel._


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